


Biological Imperative

by ashitanoyuki



Series: Biological Imperative Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alpha Alastair, Alpha Charlie, Alpha Crowley, Alpha John, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Beta Mary, Character Death, Conditioning, Domestic Violence, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gender Roles, Gendered society, Homosexuality, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized gender roles, Kidnapping, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Castiel, Omega Dean, Omega Kevin, Omega Samandriel, Omega Verse, Smut, Sort of a kid fic, Taboo Relationships, Trauma, domestic abuse, noncon, same sex relationships, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/pseuds/ashitanoyuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha, Beta, Omega. From childhood they learn their goals and their purpose. It is all about the biological imperative, the drive to carry on the species. Everything else is secondary.</p><p>Dean Winchester is sure that he is a freak of nature. A proper Omega is interested in Alphas and Betas. A proper Omega yearns for children and family and everything else that goes along with carrying on the human race. It's wrong for an Omega to be interested in other Omegas, to desire a fruitless union of sterility and nothingness.</p><p>Castiel MacLeod made a terrible mistake in marrying Fergus Crowley MacLeod, and every day that he and his son live with his traditionalist husband, he regrets his rash decision. When his son is taken from him, he runs, seeking out anyone who will help him.</p><p>Dean Winchester is not sure what exactly drives him to help the strange, abused Omega who shows up on his doorstep in the dead of night, but as he grows closer to the man, he cannot help but wonder if there is more to love than simple biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this first chapter now in celebration of my attendance of Otakon! No seriously. Getting into anime got me into slash, led to me coming out to myself, led to my open interest in gay rights, led to my interest in feminism, led to this lovely little fic. I'm not going to lie, it's partially (okay more than partially) intended as a critique on gender roles and an exploration of gay rights in the real world. But everything's better with a little Destiel, right?
> 
> One thing I have never seen Omegaverse explore is the possibility of Alphas who are attracted to other Alphas, or Omegas who are attracted to other Omegas. That's a shame, because it poses some really interesting possibilities. Hopefully I can do the concept justice.
> 
> And time for my obligatory warnings! Like basically everything else I have written, this fic is an example of 'Ashitanoyuki does not know how to write happy things'. Contains rape, domestic violence, abuse, conditioning, internalized gender roles, rape culture, homophobia, disparity between law and culture, and all sorts of other super fun things. Uncharacteristically for me, there is a good deal of fluff, and the main pairing is positively healthy (I can write healthy relationships, who knew?) but it's mixed in with a hefty dose of angst and drama. It's actually a decent balance for the most part, but this is far from a happy fluff fic. 
> 
> At some point, I am going to upload the basic biological facts of this verse and the history of its sex-segregated culture to my tumblr. When I do, I'll post a link, because it might be useful for reference. It's not necessary to read it to understand most of the story, however, so don't feel obligated to search it out.
> 
> Updates will probably be sporadic. I'm still focusing mostly on my Supernatural series "Righteous" and my Sherlock fanfiction. This is a story that would not leave my head, however, and I don't plan to leave you guys hanging for too long in-between updates.
> 
> Preliminaries out of the way, enjoy the story. Please feel free to leave me constructive criticism--I love hearing what you guys like and what I need to work on.

“Hey there gorgeous, come here often?”

Dean scowled, the heavy, musky sent of Alpha assaulting his nose as a large, balding man leaned over him, crowding into his personal space. “Go away,” he snapped, downing a gulp of Sam Adams. Typical. Go out to a bar to drink away a long day at work, and get hit on by a creepy sleazebag. It was almost pathetic, how he had come to expect this turn of events.

“Just trying to be friendly, babe.” Dean growled low in his throat as the Alpha laid a large, meaty hand on his shoulder. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here alone and unmated? You don’t smell like you’ve got an Alpha or Beta around to take care of you.”

“Don’t want one, don’t need one.” Dean twitched, shrugging out of the stranger’s gasp. “I told you to go away.”

“There’s no need to play hard to get.” The man plunked himself down in the chair next to Dean, offering him a large, cheesy grin. “The name’s Zachariah. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s ‘the Omega who’s going to get you thrown out of this bar if you don’t fuck off,'” Dean snarled, glaring at the interloper. “I’m here for a drink, not a hook-up. Try someone else.”

“Well, what crawled up your ass?” Zachariah asked, peeved, scowling at Dean.

“Not your dick.” With a sigh, Dean tossed back the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the counter. “Hey Ellen, I’m out!” he called, catching the no-nonsense woman’s eye and flashing her a charming grin.

“And what do you want me to do about it, Winchester?” she called good-naturedly, flicking her fingers in his general direction. She laughed as Dean pouted dramatically, the smile in his eyes belying his expression. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, kiddo. Let me finish getting this shot tray together.”

Dean grinned, leaning back easily in his chair. He was acutely aware of Zachariah’s presence next to him, but he’d smelled threatening Alphas before, and while the man was annoying and presumptuous, he was not a creep—not really. Dean could tolerate annoying as long as it didn’t delve into predatory. He would really hate to break out the pepper spray tonight.

Dean knew that as an attractive, single Omega at nearly thirty, he was an oddity in their society. Practically from birth, he, like everyone else he knew, had had the social order drilled into his head. Life was all about the biological imperative; everyone was supposed to spend their first few decades seeking out a mate, maybe even a few, and eventually settle down and raise a family. Alphas were biologically geared towards taking care of Omegas and Betas, Omegas naturally gravitated to the protection of Alphas and Betas, and those damn lucky Betas could settle down with whoever the hell they wanted to, even members of their own sex. The entire point of forming bonds was passing on genes, and the human race had evolved in such a way as to attract the best mate for that purpose.

Dean supposed that he was simply a genetic freak. The heavy musk of an Alpha held no erotic pull for him, and the crisp, clean scent of a beta left him neutral and cold. He could never seem to find an Alpha or a Beta with whom he wanted any more than friendship, or perhaps brotherly camaraderie. No, nothing set fire to his veins like the sweet, sugary scent of a fellow Omega, so soft and tantalizing that it made him ache with longing. Never in his life had Dean heard of such an anomaly as himself. Were it not for his own scent, rich and heavy with undertones of honey and sugar, were it not for the heats that plagued him every month or so, for the slick that dribbled down his thighs whenever he was particularly aroused, he would have thought that perhaps he was just a particularly unusual Beta. But biology didn’t lie, at least not to such a degree, and Dean had simply resigned himself to a life of celibacy and spinsterhood.

Sometimes, Dean wondered what it would be like to be normal. To cry for the knot of an Alpha or the hands of a Beta during the agony of his heats, rather than sobbing for the gentle caress of one of his own kind; to settle down with a mate and raise a family. His younger brother, Sam, seemed to have no such genetic defect. Sam was every inch the perfect Alpha, strong and domineering, doting upon Kevin, his Omega spouse, just like a fairy-tale lover. His parents, too, fit the mold, Alpha husband and Beta wife, every inch the perfect family. The thought had plagued him in his younger years, but the angst of his situation had long since worn off. As far as things went, Dean was content, happy to enjoy the single life, focusing on family, friends, and career.

Several beers later, Dean left the bar, only slightly drunk and most likely below the legal blood-alcohol limit. With a contented sigh, he slid into his car, a gorgeous 1967 Chevy Impala and his most precious possession. Really, with a fast car, a strong set of friends, wonderful parents, and an amazing brother, what more could he need? Certainly not a mate. Dean Winchester might be an Omega, but he was his own person. He did not need an Alpha or a Beta to order his life, dominating him in bed and possibly outside of it. As for children, well, Sam was perfectly capable of carrying on the family line. Dean grinned, ACDC blasting from the Impala’s speakers as he sped home, more than ready for a night alone and unbothered in his bed, able to wake up rested and fulfilled for work in the morning.

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel MacLeod could not help but flinch at the sound of a key scraping in the lock to the front door. “Listen to me, Samandriel,” he murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to his six year old son’s forehead. “Daddy wasn’t in a good mood when he left for work. I want you to be on your best behavior when he comes in, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Samandriel nodded, his wide blue eyes huge in his thin, pale face. “Yes, Papa,” he said seriously, reaching for Castiel’s hand. Castiel offered his child a shaky smile and sank to his knees, ostensibly to better help his son with the large puzzle spread out on the living room floor, but in the back of his head, he knew that it was a gesture intended to soothe his mate. Fergus Crowley MacLeod, best known as Crowley to his friends and family, had a short temper and expected submission in every way from his spouse, especially after a long day at work. Castiel kept his head bowed as footsteps sounded in the hall, his hand shaking slightly as he helped Samandriel fit a particularly stubborn piece into the border of the puzzle.

Samandriel stiffened beside Castiel, and Cas knew that his mate had entered the room. “Hello, Dear,” he said softly, glancing up without meeting Crowley’s eyes. He would rather not spark his husband’s ire by breaking his rules so early in the night.

“Hello, Castiel, Samandriel,” Crowley replied, his accented voice crisp and loud in comparison to Castiel’s. “Working on a puzzle, I see?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied softly, dusting off his hands and rising carefully, keeping his head bowed in submission. “We’ve gotten pretty far in it over the past few hours.”

“Didn’t put you off making dinner, I hope?” Crowley asked, an edge to his voice that Castiel picked up only after long years of practice.

“Of course not,” Castiel replied quickly, smoothing his hands over his rumpled button-down. “There’s a roast in the oven. It should be done in a few minutes. Samandriel, now that your father is home, why don’t you go set the table?”

Samandriel took the hint, standing up and half-running for the kitchen. Castiel waited, staring at his socked feet, as his husband pattered around, loosening his tie and removing his suit jacket.

“A puzzle, is it?” Crowley’s voice was low, dangerous, and Castiel could not control the shiver that ran down his spine. “Surely you have more useful things to do with the boy than play games, Castiel. Have you even started teaching him how to clean, like I told you to?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered quietly, daring to glance up into his mate’s cold, impassive face. “He cleaned the bathrooms all by himself today. And I taught him how to make the sauce for the roast. It’s just that he’s a child, and we had some time after the chores were finished, so I thought—”

“I didn’t marry you for your thoughts, Castiel,” Crowley replied coolly. “You’re an Omega. You’re not supposed to think. Neither is our son. I won’t have you raising him the way you would an Alpha or a Beta. You keep this up, and I will send Samandriel off to a single sex boarding school to learn his place—is that clear?”

Castiel nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had prayed, when his son was born, that he would turn out to be an Alpha or a Beta, and be spared the fate that had fallen upon Castiel himself. Luck had not been on his side; Samandriel was an intelligent, kindly child, but he was an Omega, and in Crowley’s household, biology superseded all else. There was still plenty of time for him to have more children, to give his husband an Alpha or a Beta, and if his late heat this month was any indication, there was a good chance that this would happen sooner rather than later, but the sex of any future children would not spare Samandriel an upbringing as a proper house-spouse. There were no dreams of college or a career for Omegas under Crowley’s roof.

“We will handle this properly later,” Crowley said dismissively, turning on his heel to leave the room. Castiel released the breath that he had been unaware he was holding and wiped his sweaty palms on his dress pants. He took a moment to compose himself, and headed into the kitchen to put out the salad and check on the roast. Dinner would not serve itself, after all.

As always, dinner was a quiet affair in the MacLeod house. Crowley talked about his day in between bites, and Castiel and Samandriel listened silently, smiling and nodding in all the right places. After the meal, Crowley poured himself a glass of well-aged scotch, and Castiel helped walk Samandriel through doing the dishes. All too soon, the left-overs were stored in the fridge and the dishwasher was full and running, returning the dishes to their sparklingly clean state. “Bed,” Castiel ordered softly, with a glance at the clock. It was not even eight, but Samandriel was used to going to bed early, and Castiel’s tone broke no nonsense. His son did not question him, slipping upstairs as quietly as possible to brush his teeth and put himself to bed.

Castiel slunk into the living room, dropping submissively to his knees at Crowley’s feet. “Please forgive me,” he whispered, resting his head against the seat of the couch. The words slid easily from his tongue; it had not mattered what he was apologizing for in years, after all. He could get through the rest of the night on autopilot, unless something went terribly wrong.

“Very well, pet,” Crowley said carelessly, setting his drink down on the coffee table. “Up, on the couch,” he ordered. Castiel scrambled to obey, clasping his hands tightly between his knees and keeping his gaze on the floor. “You understand what you did wrong, and you have apologized. I do not see the need to punish you tonight.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” Castiel whispered, allowing Crowley to slip his hands around his waist. He shivered as the cloying scent of musk and scotch assaulted his nose, but allowed his mate to draw him in for a kiss. 


	2. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Kevin deliver a happy announcement to Dean. On the other side of town, Castiel hits his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously going to kill me. I've had the first chapter up for what, three or four days, and this fic already has so many comments, subscriptions, and whatnot?! Hopefully I'll continue to deliver writing that you guys enjoy.
> 
> Warning for domestic violence and verbal abuse. Everyone, please give Cas a hug.

“Rise and shine, bitch!”

Sam groaned, tempted to throw his phone across the room as his brother’s much too chipper voice sounded in his ear. “Dean, what are you doing calling me this early?” he demanded groggily. Beside him, Kevin stirred, shifting slightly and pulling the covers tightly around his face. Sam laid a large hand on his mate’s side, rubbing soothing fingers across his skin. Kevin stilled, and Sam could not help the slight smile that crossed his face. Stretching, he kicked his feet over his side of the bed, rolling his shoulders to loosen stiff limbs as he left the bedroom for the quiet living room, dimly lit by the half-risen sun.

“Got an unexpected day off. Gordon said he’s going to be short on rent this month, wanted to take my shift,. Wanted to ask you and Kevin over to dinner tonight, if you’re free.”

“You called me at six in the morning for this?” Sam knew that Dean knew better than to take his annoyance seriously. His brother had always called him an overgrown puppy, and though Sam would never admit it, in some ways, it was true. He might bitch at Dean, but he could never seem to be truly angry with him.

“Well, yeah, it kind of determines what I’m doing with the rest of my day.” Dean chuckled, and Sam was glad that his brother could not see the grudging grin that slid across his face. He had to keep up his put out act _some_ of the time.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll ask Kevin when he gets up, but I can’t imagine he would say no.” In fact, Sam knew that his mate would be delighted to have a ready-made excuse to drop by Dean’s house. Two missed heats and a month of near-daily morning sickness could only mean one thing, and Sam and Kevin had long since decided that they wanted to announce the coming of their first child to their family and friends in person. “What time do you want us here?”

“Just drop on by sometime in the afternoon.” Sam could swear that he could hear his brother’s grin through the phone, and he felt a pang of guilt; Dean lived alone, and he had been remiss about visiting him. Not that his brother would ever complain about feeling lonely, not when he hardly seemed to register it as an emotion, but he always seemed inordinately delighted to see Sam and Kevin every time they came over. Sam made a mental note to get out to his brother’s place more often; it wasn’t exactly a long drive.

“Okay. If it’s all right, I’m going back to bed, now,” Sam said, shaking his head as his brother huffed indignantly.

“Yeah, all right. See you this afternoon, then, bitch!”

Sam smiled affectionately at the demeaning nickname. “Jerk,” he responded, ending the call before his brother could get another word in. He yawned, stretching, unable to deny the butterflies that shot through his stomach. For all his talk about going back to bed, he doubted that he would be able to sleep now. Not when in only a few hours, he would be announcing his mate’s pregnancy to his brother. Dean would be over the moon that he was the first to know.

“Sam?” Kevin poked his head out of the bedroom, his thick black hair rumpled and hanging in his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Dean invited us to dinner tonight,” Sam replied, grinning at the adorable picture his sleepy mate made. “That good with you? We can tell him about the upcoming addition to our family.”

Kevin blinked tiredly, taking a few minutes to run Sam’s words through his undoubtedly sleep-muddled brain. “Oh!” he exclaimed finally, his face lighting up. “Yeah, of course! Sounds awesome!”

Sam laughed, walking over to his mate and folding him into his arms, affectionately kissing the top of his head. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back to sleep,” he said, a hint of question in his voice.

Kevin hummed, rubbing his face against his mate’s strong, broad chest. “I might have a few ideas on how to remedy that,” he said, taking Sam’s hand and pulling him into the bedroom.

0o0o0o0o0

Dean had just finished wiping down the table and had cracked open his first beer of the day when a knock sounded at his door. “It’s open!” he called, brushing his hands on his jeans and making his way into the living room.

Sam stood in the doorway, his huge frame nearly hiding Kevin, who stood almost directly behind him. “Hey, little brother!” Dean greeted him, seizing his brother around the waist and dragging him into a tight bear hug. “It’s been way too long. Hiya, squirt,” he teased, reaching out to drag his brother’s mate into the embrace, squeezing them both and letting go, stepping back to grin at the both of them. “You’re way earlier than I expected. Dinner’s not going to be ready for a few hours.”

“Such a problem. We only came over for your food, you know,” Sam replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he returned his brother’s smile. Dean snorted, closing the door behind them.

“Fridge is free game if you want drinks or a snack. Basketball’s on TV, but feel free to change the channel if you like. I only put it on for background noise.” Dean laughed at the look on Kevin’s face; the other Omega practically ran for the remote, flicking through the channels and settling on some scientific documentary that he’d likely been angling to watch today. Sam shook his head, amused, and ducked into the kitchen, returning with a beer in one hand and a water bottle in the other. He tossed the water to Kevin, who caught it without looking, already engrossed in the researchers on screen.

“So, Dean,” Sam said when they had all settled on the couch, the TV at half volume in the background. Kevin glanced up sharply, turning the volume down almost to mute and swiveling to face his brother in law. “Before we get too wrapped up in things, there’s something Kevin and I need to tell you.”

“Shoot,” Dean said, flashing a charming smile at the pair.

Kevin took an excited breath. “How do you feel about being an uncle?” he asked, his hands drifting unconsciously towards his stomach.

“Like I’m going to spoil the hell out of any kids you guys have,” Dean answered easily, taking a long sip of his beer. “Why, you guys thinking about trying for a kid soon?”

He was greeted with an excited silence. Sam grinned, ducking his head almost shyly as Kevin reached for his hand. “Oh no way,” Dean breathed, looking from Kevin to Sam and then back again. “You’re pregnant?” he blurted out, his voice rising in excitement. “Holy shit! Since when?” he demanded breathlessly.

“Um, about two months,” Kevin said shyly, running his thumb over Sam’s palm. “We haven’t told anyone else, but it seemed like it’s all good to let you know.”

Dean swallowed hard, absolutely speechless. The first to know about such a momentous event in his brother’s life? Shaking his head, Dean took a moment to compose himself. “Right, well, as an uncle to be, I have a long list of demands, and you don’t get to say no to any of them,” he said, only half joking. “You call me when you find out if it’s a boy or a girl. You call me when you figure out a name. You call me when you get the first ultrasound pictures…”

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel was hard at work scrubbing the kitchen floor when the house phone rang. Tiredly, he wiped his brow with his apron, before rising and making his way to the phone by the fifth ring. The caller ID read “Lawrence Elementary” and he felt a stab of worry. Why would Samandriel’s school be calling him?

Castiel swallowed hard and picked up the phone. “MacLeod residence,” he said, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh.

“Mr. MacLeod?” Castiel grimaced at the static that buzzed over the voice on the other end.

“Speaking,” he replied, glancing at the clock. Not even noon; it was still the middle of the school day. He hoped that Samandriel had not gotten sick. “How may I help you?”

“Mr. MacLeod, we are calling about your son Samandriel. He is with the principal right now, and we need to schedule a parent-teacher conference.”

With the principal? “What happened?” Castiel asked, sinking to the floor before his knees could give out on him. This was not good. Crowley would be livid about having to take off work, and there was no way that he would allow Castiel to attend a parent-teacher conference on his own.

“Your son’s teacher has brought him to the office with a complaint. It seems Samandriel has developed a habit of arguing with his teacher whenever he does not see the point to an assignment. Naturally, Mr. Fitzgerald is concerned that there might be something going on, either at home or in the classroom, that is encouraging Samandriel to act out. It’s a fairly routine procedure; we just want to ensure that we are doing everything we can to make school a pleasant and fulfilling experience for all our students.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold. “There must be some mistake,” he said finally, his voice shaking. It was impossible. Samandriel couldn’t be acting out—he knew better. He knew that there would be severe consequences if Crowley found out! “My son is a good kid. He wouldn’t argue with his teacher.”

“I’m afraid that he is.” The voice on the other end was all business, oblivious to the terror that shot through Castiel’s heart. “We have already contacted your spouse about the matter, and he requested that we call you for your input.”

Castiel fought back hysterical laughter. For his input? More likely Crowley wanted to strike fear into him, make him miserable and on edge until he got home and could properly punish his family. “Yes, well, if a conference is necessary, please schedule for your nearest convenience,” he said, his mouth running on autopilot, his mind a thousand miles away. He could find a way to make this up to Crowley. He had to, because there was no way he could allow his child to be punished simply for questioning what he was told. Crowley would see it differently, but Castiel could distract him, take his mind off the issue. It would have to work.

Castiel was hardly aware of writing down the appointment time and bidding the person on the other end of the phone farewell. He hung up and drew his knees up to his chest, shaking. This couldn’t be happening.

Castiel sat for hours, lost in his panic, until the rumbling of the school bus pulled him from his thoughts. Swallowing hard, he rose and made his way unsteadily to the door. It would not do for Samandriel to see him, panic-ridden, on the floor. He had to be a parent before all else.

“Samandriel, what were you thinking?” he demanded before his son even had time to take off his shoes. The six year old looked up at Castiel, his eyes wide, but his mouth set in a thin, stubborn line.

“The assignment was stupid,” he said, bending down to untie his sneakers. “Mr. Fitzgerald wanted us to add carrots. Carrots, Papa, not numbers. It was stupid, and I told him so. Why would we add carrots anyways?”

“That’s not—” Castiel sucked in a breath, steadying himself. “The school called your father,” he said, his voice hard. “You know that he prizes obedience over everything else. Do you have any idea how furious he’s going to be?”

“But it was _stupid,_ Papa,” Samandriel protested, clutching the strap of his backpack in a small fist.

“It doesn’t matter if it was stupid!” Castiel cried, steading himself against the back of an armchair. “You don’t argue with your teachers! Ever!”

Samandriel glared at him with all the self-righteous fury of his six years. Castiel’s insides clenched, because really, his son had not done anything wrong, and yet his actions would have severe consequences. “Go to your room,” he ordered finally. “Do your homework. I don’t care if your homework is adding carrots, or something else you think is stupid, you do your work and you don’t complain about it. Do I make myself clear?”

Samandriel released a long, exasperated sigh, glowering as he stomped off towards the stairs. Castiel took a shaky breath, rubbing his hands against his face to steady himself. Oh, Crowley was going to be livid. His knees threatened to give out, but he had dinner to make and a house to clean, and slacking off on his chores would only provoke his husband further.

It was only a few hours before Crowley returned, earlier than usual, slamming the door behind him. Castiel jerked reflexively, nearly burning himself as he lurched dangerously close to the stove. He shook his head, turning the heat down to a low simmer, and turned, forcing himself to leave the kitchen and face the music out in the living room.

“I take it you got the call,” Crowley said without preamble, glaring at his mate.

“I did,” Castiel replied, his voice wavering. “I sent him to his room to work on his homework. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“No, it won’t,” Crowley agreed amicably. “I am withdrawing him from public school. Clearly, you’ve been a bad influence, Castiel. Not half as obedient as an Omega should be, and he had to learn this behavior somewhere.”

Castiel gasped, struggling to suck air into his lungs. “Crowley—”

“Don’t,” his mate snapped, glaring at him. “I’ve already made the arrangements. From now on, he will be enrolled in Angeli’s School for Omegas. They’re sending a car for him tonight.”

“Please,” Castiel begged, sinking to his knees, desperate to placate his husband. “It was his first time making this kind of mistake. Please, just let me—”

“See, and this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Crowley barked, slamming his fist against the wall. Castiel jumped, his heart hammering as he stared up at the enraged man before him. “An Omega does not question his mate, Castiel. I don’t know where you learned this behavior, but it ends now. When I tell you our son is a disgrace and I am shipping him off to boarding school to rectify his behavior, you accept it without complaint, do you understand?”

Castiel shook his head wildly, aware that he was on thin ice, but unable to bring himself to care. “Crowley, please, let me—”

Crowley seized him by the shirt lapels and hauled him to his feet. “What did I just say?” he growled, shaking Castiel hard. “Well?”

Castiel shook his head. With an angry snarl, Crowley backhanded him, snapping his head back with the force of the blow. “You’re a disgrace,” his mate snapped, glaring at him with disgust. “I ought to throw you out right now. See how an Omega with barely a high school diploma gets by when he has to take care of himself. You wouldn’t last a week before you came crawling back to me!”

“Do it.” The words were out of Castiel’s mouth before he could stop them. “Do it! Because—because if you send Samandriel away, I’m leaving you,” he babbled, ignoring the voice in his head that screamed at him to shut up before he made the situation worse.

Crowley stared at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said finally, dangerously. “You think I don’t know that you missed your heat this month? You think you can raise a child on the streets?”

“At least on the streets, if it’s an Omega, my child won’t grow up thinking that they’re less than everyone else just because of who they are!” Castiel shouted, wrenching out of Crowley’s grasp.

“You’re right! He won’t grow up at all! He’ll die before you’ve even weaned him, you useless bitch!” Crowley grabbed at Castiel, but he dodged, backing away warily. Crowley took a step towards him; Castiel turned and bolted for the stairs.

He had to get to Samandriel, the need to grab his son and leave singing through his veins. Primal instinct propelled him, and Castiel tore up the stairs, sprinting down the hall to Samandriel’s room at the end.

A sudden blow threw Castiel into the wall. He yelled in surprise and pain as the impact jolted through his body, stunning him. Crowley’s hard, angry hand closed around his neck; almost effortlessly, he picked Castiel up and threw him in the guest room, shutting the door. Castiel heard the click of a lock, and grabbed desperately at the handle. The door would not budge.

“I will deal with you when my son is safely off to his new school, where you can no longer influence him.” Crowley’s voice was muffled through the thick wooden door, but no less menacing for the barrier.

“Let me out!” Castiel screamed, banging his fists uselessly against dark mahogany. “Please! Alpha, _please,_ at least let me say goodbye to him!”

“You lost that right when you threatened to leave,” Crowley replied, his voice distant. He was moving down the hall, doubtless going to Samandriel’s room, to take Castiel’s son and send him away to some wretched school of brainwashing. Castiel would only see him on holidays, and even then, he would be a shell of himself, warped and broken by the oppressive values of single sex schools.

Castiel wailed, sinking to the ground and curling in on himself. He wept for his son, born into a life of oppression, and for himself, for the dreams he lost when he made the rash decision to run off with Crowley. If he had not been so stubborn, so desperate to get away from his family, maybe he would be happy and free right now. Instead, he was little more than a slave to Crowley’s beliefs and appetites, and the one person who made his life worth living, his son, was being taken from him.

He had to leave. Whatever the cost, he had to get away from Crowley. Maybe his husband was right; maybe he would end up alone and helpless on the streets, dying early from exposure and neglect, unable to fend for himself. At least then he would die free.

 

 


	3. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a flashback, and remembers a very dark event in his life. Castiel enacts a plan to escape Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you all have been VERY good recently (I assume) you may have another chapter before expected. On a scale of Hurt to Comfort, I have no idea where this one falls.
> 
> Warnings: Flashbacks, slight sexual content (dubcon of a strange nature).

_Shadows whirled about Dean’s mind, suffocating him. He tried to yell for help, but was met with nothing but a harsh, nasal voice. “So pretty when you scream,” the voice whispered, cold and slimy in Dean’s ear. “Gonna mount you, breed you, make you my bitch so you can never leave. Scream for me, Deano.”_

_The walls were closing in on him, and there was nowhere to run. “Dad!” Dean shouted, begging desperately. “Sam! Mom! Anyone, please, help!”_

Dean woke in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his ears. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and glancing at the clock. Two-thirty in the morning, and he knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep. It had been almost a year since he had had a nightmare this intense. It was almost as bad as the flashbacks he had gotten after the… incident.

With sleep out of the question, Dean kicked away the sheets and rose, stretching his long limbs. He would have had to be up in three hours for work anyways, and if he made enough coffee, he might not hate life by the end of the day. With a wry smile, Dean headed for the kitchen, hitting the start button on the coffee pot, setting the grounds and water he had prepared the night before to making their delicious miracle drink.

It was little better than paranoia on his part, but when Dean exited the shower, steam rising from his pink skin, he found himself itching to check the news—just in case. He pulled out his laptop, and left it to start up while he got his first cup of coffee.

All was well. There would have been a report if a registered sex offender like Alastair had moved back into the area. Dean doubted that the Alpha would think to look him up, but he could not afford to be too careful.

He was almost tempted to call Sam, but it was much too early to go waking his brother up like a child looking for comfort. In any case, he already knew what his brother would say. Lock the doors and get your gun, but for god’s sake, the man’s not getting out of prison any time soon. Dean knew this, but he could not help his unease whenever those buried memories crossed his mind.

Sometimes, Dean had wondered if his aversion to sexual relationships with Alphas and Betas stemmed from the trauma he had gone through with Alastair. Deep down, Dean knew that he had been uninterested in the other sexes long before that chapter in his life, and that he had entered a relationship with the Alpha in an attempt to kindle some passion for them, but it was such a simple, easy explanation. Dean sighed, shutting his laptop. Nothing like a Star Wars marathon to make the ghosts go away, especially since he was already dressed and ready for work.

Dean was well into _A New Hope_ when a knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. A glance at the clock told him that it was three-thirty in the morning—much too early for visitors. “What the hell?” he muttered, rising in spite of himself to answer the door.

A bruised, shivering man stood on his doorstep, clutching his trench coat tightly closed with a single pale, shaking hand. His blue eyes darted back and forth, huge against his pale, shapely cheekbones, a stark contrast to his disheveled black hair. Dean took a breath, and caught a whiff of something that smelled like apples and cinnamon, outing the stranger as an Omega. He swallowed hard, staring at the stranger, no words coming to mind.

“Please,” the Omega said, stretching out his hand and grabbing the door-jamb for support. “Please, I need help.”

0o0o0o0o0

By the time Crowley returned, more than an hour later, Castiel had made up his mind. He was getting out tonight, no matter what it cost. He could not live another day under Crowley’s oppression; he would go mad from the strain and humiliation. His only option was to lull his mate into a false sense of security, and sneak away while he slept.

So Castiel knelt, his hands clasped behind his back, his head ducked submissively, just the way Crowley liked him. He did not look up when the door opened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at the floor. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t think you can cute your way out of punishment.” Castiel chanced a glance up at Crowley’s face; his mate stared down at him, disdain spread across his features.

“I know,” Castiel said, every inch the perfectly submissive Omega. “I don’t expect it. I just want to make this up to you.”

Wordlessly, Crowley dragged Castiel to his feet. He kissed him brutally, to claim rather than out of passion. Castiel allowed Crowley to explore his mouth, lax and pliant in his arms, kissing back to just the degree that Crowley liked, and not a whit more.

Crowley shoved Castiel, who stumbled backwards, falling onto the guestroom bed. Rather than protest, he wiggled his body so that he was fully on the mattress, spreading his legs invitingly. “Whore,” Crowley growled, shedding his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he stalked over to Castiel. “Nothing but a needy little bitch. You’re lucky you’re carrying my child right now, or I’d have to beat that out of you.”

Castiel whimpered, drawing a smirk from his mate. It was a game that he knew how to play all too well; submit and beg, play the wanton whore or the shy innocent, all depending on Crowley’s mood. Tonight, his best bet was to put on a mask of desperation, and hope that he exhausted his mate before too long.

Demurely, Castiel looked down, tugging at the hem of his shirt; widening his eyes, he looked up at Crowley, his lips parting slightly in an unspoken question. “Make it good, and maybe I won’t punish your earlier insubordination as harshly,” Crowley ordered, his pupils dilating with lust.

Castiel felt nothing as he stripped, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and wiggling out of his pants, rotating his hips tantalizingly in movements that he had long since committed to muscle memory. Sex with his husband was expected, and Crowley had very particular tastes, but it was not required that he enjoy it—only that he fake it. Fully undressed, Castiel arched seductively on the bed, looking at Crowley from beneath long eyelashes and half-closed lids.

“Sit up,” Crowley ordered. Castiel did, and slunk on all fours to the edge of the bed, swaying his hips slightly as he reached for his mate’s belt. Crowley’s slacks fell unceremoniously to the ground, and Castiel quickly divested him of his underwear, reaching with slender fingers for his husband’s erection.

Crowley caught his wrist in a bruising grip. “No,” he ordered dangerously. Castiel wanted to scream; it was going to be one of those nights, then, where Crowley dragged things on and wore Castiel into the mattress. He would have to be careful to fake exhaustion before his mate truly did wear him out, or he would never get away before the man woke.

In an instant, Crowley was on the bed, his weight holding Castiel flat against the mattress. Castiel gasped, falling limp as Crowley grasped his wrists, his fingernails digging into Castiel’s skin as he raised his torso. Castiel whimpered, but it was not the whimper of desire that Crowley so expected from him, and he could only hope it would pass.

It did. “Like this, slut?” Crowley squeezed Castiel’s wrists, rubbing between his legs with one knee. Castiel whined, his erection perking up at the stimulus, his body releasing its pungent slick despite his feelings about the situation. And that was fine. Physical arousal would help him convince Crowley that he was, indeed, sorry for what he had done. In Crowley’s mind, Omegas were inferior, irrational creatures, fit for sex and breeding and not much else, their emotions and thoughts ruled by hormones. It was the traditional view of Omegas, and Crowley was among that minority that still held those views as fact. Castiel was simply confirming his belief in the irrational, sex-driven Omega, and if it would help him escape, he was perfectly all right with that.

The night seemed to drag on forever. Castiel functioned on auto-pilot, moaning and writhing and begging at all the right times, touching Crowley in all the right places, reacting with the perfect mix of shame and physical arousal to the degrading insults his husband hurled at him. Castiel had long since learned the art of allowing his body to function while his mind drifted, and even as his nerves screamed in exhaustion and his body ached for release, he planned, and he plotted.

Hours passed before Crowley collapsed, spent, rolling off his mate to sleep on one side of the bed. Castiel allowed himself to drift back into full awareness of his body and took stock of the situation. His wrists were bruised, his ass was sore—sometimes he was surprised that such a thing was still possible—he had not orgasmed, and his head was pounding from having smacked against the headboard several times. Castiel had come out of sex in worse condition, to be sure, but he had hoped to be in better condition before setting out.

Luck was in his favor in one respect, at least; Crowley had always slept like a rock. Quietly, Castiel slipped out of bed and dressed, slipping Crowley’s wallet out of his pants pocket. All the years of degradation he had put up with, his spouse could afford to spare a hundred dollars or so for him to get a cab out of there.

It was not until Castiel had left the house, wrapped in a trench coat from the back of the hall closet, that he realized that he did not have any idea of how to go about getting a cab. It was not as if he lived in the city, where he might simply hail a passing vehicle; their upper-class suburban neighborhood did not see much commuter traffic. Castiel had learned to drive as a teenager, but he had not been behind the wheel since his wedding to Crowley, and the noise of the garage door might well wake his mate. Shivering, Castiel jammed his hands into his pockets and chose a direction, determined to walk until he collapsed.

Fortune must have smiled on him, for Castiel had only been walking for ten miles or so when a passing taxi actually pulled over to the side and stopped, the driver poking his head out the window. “You okay, man?” the kindly-faced Beta asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said automatically. The driver raised an eyebrow at him, and Castiel realized how he must look, a bruised, disheveled Omega walking along the side of the road in the middle of the night. “Actually,” he said, swallowing hard, “is there any chance that you could give me a ride? Just—any direction, as far as eighty dollars will get me.”

The driver sighed. “Front seat,” he told Castiel, gesturing to the front. Castiel nodded and got in. “Name’s Benny. And don’t worry about the money, okay? This ride is on me.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “That is not necessary,” he said, his voice small. “I can pay.”

Benny shook his head, pulling back onto the road. “Look, I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that something bad happened to you. And I’m just some stranger, so I don’t expect you to tell me about it. But I’ll tell you what, my best friend, my brother, is better than any blood I’ve got, and he’s an Omega. If anything happened to him, I’d hope that someone would help him out. World’s a crazy place sometimes.”

Castiel nodded, swallowing hard. “Then… It doesn’t have to be as far,” he offered, reluctant to force Benny to spend the gas.

Benny nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “You got friends anywhere nearby? Someone you can stay with?”

Almost ashamed, Castiel shook his head. He had not had friends in years—the partners of Crowley’s business associates did not count. They were all loud and happy, and Castiel had always had the sense that they looked down on him for being a house husband. If only they had known, maybe they could have helped him, but there was no sense in dwelling on them now.

Benny frowned, seeming to think. “My friend I mentioned, Dean,” he said finally. “He’s got his own house. Lives alone. Can’t make any promises, but I can take you to his house, and he’ll probably help you.”

“I just need to be able to set up an appointment with a lawyer. Even if he only lets me use his phone, that’s fine.” And it was. Castiel was perfectly all right with sleeping on the street. It would be a damn more restful night than any he had spent in Crowley’s bed.

“Nah, he won’t turn you away. Dean’s a good man. Besides, he’s a mean enough shot to take out the baddest Alpha, so he’s not gonna be threatened by you.” Benny laughed, and Castiel gathered that the man really was quite fond of this ‘Dean’ character. Castiel was just relieved that the mysterious Dean was, apparently, an Omega who lived alone. Intellectually, he knew that most Alphas and Betas did not share Crowley’s values and opinion of Omegas, but that knowledge only went so far when he still carried the bruises from his mate’s rough treatment.

Castiel remained silent, content to listen to Benny chatter the way he would at any other customer. He watched the streetlights blur past him, each one a marker of increasing distance from Crowley. He breathed, some of the tightness lifting from his chest.

Benny turned down a quiet suburban street, all tiny houses and neatly trimmed lawns. It was not at all like the lavish, sprawling neighborhood where Crowley lived, and Castiel felt immensely better for the difference. “Looks like his light is on,” Benny said, frowning, as he stopped the taxi outside a one story house. “What’s he doing up?” he mused aloud.

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly, opening his door. “You’re sure you won’t take payment?”

Benny grinned at him. “You didn’t pass out from shock in my cab. Let’s call it even,” he said. His expression sobered some as he looked at Castiel, as though he had forgotten how utterly wrecked the man looked. “I’ll wait here until you’re safely in the house. You take care, all right?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Castiel repeated fervently. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked up the steps to the porch. He gave a hard knock to the door and stepped back, waiting for an answer.

It seemed to Castiel that an eternity passed before the muffled noise of footsteps reached his ears. He took a deep breath, willing his pounding heart to calm down.

The door swung open, revealing a tall, freckled man, his bright green eyes alert and wary. His short, damp dirty-blond hair was beginning to stick up in the back, and he was dressed in day clothes rather than any gear for sleeping. Lush pink lips parted slightly as he stared at Castiel, concern and bemusement warring across his face.

“Please.” The word wavered slightly as it slid from between Castiel’s lips, and his stomach clenched in shame. He pressed his palm against the edge of the doorway, his knees threatening to give out. “Please, I need help.”

 

 


	4. Burdens and Saviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tells Dean his story, and Dean invites him to stay as long as he needs. Castiel begins to settle into his new freedom, but his relief is cut short by the arrival of an Alpha who claims to be Dean's brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's far from complete, but I started posting some info about this verse on tumblr. (Actually, I made an entire blog for my fanfics because why not?) So far I only have two sections up, but here, have a thing if you so desire. http://ashitanoyuki-on-ao3.tumblr.com/Biological-Imperative
> 
> Don't go too hard on Cas this chapter. I promise, he's not going to be a jumpy little bird through the whole story, but by this chapter he's been free for less than a day. He's still traumatized.

Dean ushered the strange Omega through the door, his head spinning with a thousand questions. The man stood awkwardly on the welcome mat, fiddling with his hands as though unsure of what to do with himself. “Come on,” Dean said, placing a hand on the man’s back and guiding him into the living room, where Star Wars was still playing. He paused the movie and sat on the couch, gesturing for the stranger to sit as well. “You said you need help. Do you need me to call the police?”

“No!” The man seemed startled, his eyes widening even further, clasping his hands together so tightly that his knuckles went white from the strain. “No, that won’t be necessary. I just need a place to stay for the night so that my—my mate doesn’t find me. And I need to call a lawyer in the morning, but I promise, I won’t trouble you after that.”

“You’re not troubling me,” Dean said, a pit forming in his stomach as he took in the meaning of the other man’s words. Hiding from a mate was never a good thing, especially for an Omega. That, combined with the bruises on the man’s face and his tense, nervous posture, screamed of an abusive relationship. “You can stay as long as you need to. What’s your name?”

“Castiel. Castiel MacLeod.” The man scrunched his nose at the sound of his own last name. He had taken his mate’s name, then. That meant there was an actual legal contract involved, not simply an agreement between the two to live as an exclusive couple. No wonder he wanted to call a lawyer.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said. “Can I call you that? Cas?”

Castiel looked startled. “Of course,” he said finally. “My… My siblings used to call me that, actually. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it used.”

“I see,” Dean said, adding that to his mental checklist of problems facing the man. It was not unusual for intense traditionalists to keep Omega partners close, but it was uncommon for them to cut them off from their families completely. “Can you tell me what happened? I don’t want to pry, but strangers don’t usually show up on my doorstep at three in the morning.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “My mate sent my son away,” he said softly. “He’s been threatening for a while to send him to a single sex school for Omegas. I tried to stop him, and he—” Castiel broke off, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. “Crowley does not take well to insubordination. I told him if he sent our son away I would leave him, and he got angry.”

Dean nodded, clenching his fists in his lap. Castiel shivered, and continued. “My mate’s very conservative and traditional. It was a stupid mistake, marrying him, but I did not know just how traditional he was at the time. I put up with it for years because I was too damn prideful to leave and go crawling back to my family." Castiel shook his head regretfully. "Then I had Samandriel, and I thought, even though I did not want him to be raised with a skewed view of himself just because my mate thinks Omegas are inferior, I thought that it would be best for him to be raised by two parents. And then, I was just too afraid to leave.” Castiel laughed, a dull, hollow noise. “I guess I hit my breaking point. Samandriel is everything I have left, and now I don’t even have him.”

Dean placed a comforting hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel glanced up bright blue eyes flashing with sorrow, but underneath the emotion lay a powerful mix of determination and fury. “I refuse to submit to a life as nothing but a breeder. And I refuse to let my son become trapped in this sort of life—or any other children I might have.” Unconsciously, he placed his palm over his stomach. “But if I try to start divorce proceedings while still under Crowley’s roof… He frightens me,” Castiel confessed. “Maybe once I could have stood up to him while living with him, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it now. I have to be away from him, or I’ll lose my nerve. I—”

Impulsively, Dean pulled Castiel closer, wrapping his arms around the man. Castiel gasped, stiffening, and then he relaxed, melting into Dean’s hold. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” Dean said softly, allowing the man to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. “You can stay as long as you need. I’m not going to turn you out unless you’ve got somewhere safe to go, okay?”

 Castiel laughed darkly. “Pretty trusting of you,” he murmured. “I won’t put you out like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m serious,” Dean said, squeezing the man lightly. “I haven’t got a guest room, but you can sleep in my bed tonight, and I can make up the couch for you until you find somewhere permanent to stay, all right?”

Castiel nodded, his hair tickling the side of Dean’s face. “Thank you,” he murmured tiredly. “I’ll try not to trouble you.”

Dean sighed, releasing the man. “Come on,” he said, extending a hand and helping Castiel to his feet. “The bedroom’s right down the hall. You can borrow some of my pajamas, and we’ll sort out the rest when I get back from work.”

Exhaustion radiated from the other Omega as he followed Dean to the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, giving Dean a shaky smile, and then disappeared into the dark room, shutting the door behind him. Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes. Well, this had been an eventful morning. He supposed it was a backhanded blessing that he had had such a nightmare earlier, or he might have slept through the knock on the door. Dean headed back to the living room, setting the movie to play again, but he was only half aware of the events on the screen.

It was not lost on Dean that he had only narrowly escaped a similar fate to Castiel’s. If he had stayed in his disastrous relationship with Alastair, he would have probably ended up just as trapped and broken as the other man, forced to stay with an abusive mate for the sake of children, and out of fear of retribution. Of course, Castiel had probably loved his mate once—it was the natural way between Omegas and the other sexes. Dean shuddered, giving up on the movie and turning off the TV. In only a few short hours, he would have to leave for work, leaving Castiel alone in the house. He hoped that the other man would be all right.

Dean’s phone buzzed, startling him. Hastily, he picked up. “Yes?” he said, briefly wondering who on earth was calling him at not quite four in the morning.

“That Omega get into your house okay?” Benny’s voice sounded through the phone, low and concerned.

“How’d you know about that?” Dean asked, slouching forward on the couch. “I think he’s fine. He’s sleeping right now.”

“I know because I’m the one who brought him to you,” Benny replied quietly. “Was going to drop the cab off after my shift, and I saw him walking along the side of the road. Wasn’t going to just leave him out for anyone to pick up, now, was I?”

“Shit,” Dean muttered wearily. “Well, I’m glad you brought him here. Poor guy’s on the run from an abusive mate.”

“I thought it was something like that.” Benny’s tone was dark, flat. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean replied. “I think you’ve done as much as you can. He just needs somewhere to stay for a while until he can get a divorce, or something like that. I’m not exactly going to kick him out.”

Benny laughed darkly. “Brother, if you threw him to the wolves like that, I’d have to come to your place and kick your ass until you begged for mercy, and then some. I wouldn’t have sent the guy your way if I didn’t think you’d help him.”

“You’re actually a good person. Who’d have thought?” Dean teased mockingly.

“Just don’t let it get out. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” That much was true. Benny was infamous among their crowd for having beaten away a group of Alpha muggers with nothing but his bare hands. They all knew it was a valiant move to get them away from the elderly woman they had been robbing, but Benny liked to say it was because he didn’t like their faces, and everyone pretended to believe it.

“Thanks for bringing him here,” Dean said seriously. “Now go to bed, you overgrown jackass.”

“Later, brother.” The line went dead. Dean sighed, pocketing his phone. It was time for more coffee. He had the feeling that he was going to need it.

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel woke with a start, the sun high in the sky and shining on his face. A momentary panic rushed through him—he would never finish his chores in time now, and Crowley would be _furious—_ and then the events of the previous night came rushing back. Samandriel had been taken from him. His son was gone, but he had gotten out. He was almost free from Crowley—he just needed to secure a divorce—and then he could focus on getting his son back.

With a heavy sigh, Castiel crawled out from beneath the covers, thick grey sweatpants sliding across the smooth sheets as he moved. He winced as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The side of his face was a nasty shade of purple, and dark, nearly black bruises ringed his wrists, clearly visible beneath the short sleeves of Dean’s T-shirt.

Hesitantly, Castiel left the bedroom, poking his head into the empty living room. Dean had left a note on the table, explaining that he was at work, and Castiel could help himself to anything in the fridge, on the bookshelf, in the DVD cabinet. A small smile crossed Castiel’s lips. It had been a long time since he had had a spare moment to simply sit down and curl up with a book.

Five minutes later, Castiel found himself perched on the couch, a bowl of fruit in his lap and a Dickens novel in his hands. He read eagerly, eating as he went, caught up in a fictional world, much in the way he had spent his childhood.

Castiel was nearing the end of the novel when the doorbell startled him from his reverie. Castiel frowned, freezing on the couch. Dean would not ring his own doorbell, and it was not really Castiel’s place to receive visitors for his host.

The door cracked open slightly. “Dean, you home?” a low voice called. Castiel tensed as the unmistakably musky scent of a strange Alpha wafted into the living room. “Kevin left his wallet here yesterday. I’m just going to grab it and go, okay?”

Castiel’s heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. He forced himself to sit still and straight. Not all Alphas were Crowley. Indeed, if this Alpha was close enough to Dean to just walk into his house while he was at work, the odds were that he was far from a traditionalist. He repeated the thought desperately in his head, trying in vain to calm himself.

The scent grew stronger as the man’s footsteps grew louder, and the stranger stopped at the entrance to the living room. Castiel stared at the floor, willing the man to get what he came for and leave.

“Um, hi,” the stranger said awkwardly. Castiel chanced a glance up at the man. He was enormous, his gangly frame filling the space with intimidating presence. Castiel would wager that the man had several inches even on Dean, who was rather tall himself. “Is Dean around?”

Castiel shook his head, his throat too dry for speech. Another awkward moment of silence passed. “Well, I’m Dean’s brother, Sam,” the man said finally, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you a friend of Dean’s?”

Mutely, Castiel nodded, fixing his gaze on the floor. It wasn’t entirely accurate, but it was a much simpler answer than explaining to this strange Alpha that he was essentially a refugee on the run from an abusive mate.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said finally. Castiel sat, rigid, as Sam looked around the room, his eyes lighting on the end table next to Castiel. “Oh, good. I was afraid I was going to have to tear the place apart looking for this,” he said, striding over to the table, passing directly in front of Castiel.

Instinctively, Castiel shrank back, putting as much space as possible between himself and the Alpha. Sam frowned, turning to face him, his mouth slightly open. His face tightened as he got a good look at Castiel for the first time, his eyes raking over Castiel’s body, taking in his sallow pallor and the bruises littering his skin. “Whoa, what happened to you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said automatically, loath to trust the stranger. He watched Sam warily, willing him to leave, and was distressed when the Alpha sat on the couch next to him.

“Well, whatever’s going on, you sure don’t look fine,” Sam said, leaning back against the arm of the couch. It put some space in between him and Castiel, but not nearly so much as the Omega would have liked.

Castiel fidgeted, waiting for the Alpha to say something else. He didn’t, instead picking up the remote and turning on the TV, flipping to a news channel. Castiel shifted uncomfortably, edging as inconspicuously as he could to the side of the couch. It seemed that Sam intended to wait at the house for Dean to get home. Castiel supposed that this was Sam’s right as Dean’s brother, but his presence was severely discomfiting, and he wanted to put as much space as possible between himself and the strange Alpha.

Noiselessly, Castiel rose and backed out of the room, the book he had been reading still clutched tightly in his fist. Dean’s house was small, and it took him only a few steps to reach the kitchen. He could make dinner as a thank-you gift for Dean, and keep some distance between himself and Dean’s Alpha brother in the process. He just hoped that Sam was not the type to come sniffing around, checking up on his actions.

The kitchen was neat and well-stocked, though not as elaborate as Crowley’s had been. Castiel was able to scrounge up the ingredients for a pasta sauce, which he set to cooking almost on autopilot. It would be a while before the sauce was far along enough for him to put the pasta in, so he settled down in one of the kitchen chairs with his book, his ears alert for the sound of the door, signaling Dean’s return home.

 

 


	5. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam stays for dinner, and Castiel grows comfortable with his presence. Dean struggles with his attraction to Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, you guys have officially killed me. I am dead.
> 
> When I started this fic, I didn't think it would get much attention. It's now passed everything I have ever written in terms of kudos and comments. I am truly humbled by how much you guys seem to like the story, and I hope I can continue to keep you interested!
> 
> I'm not super-familiar with how divorce proceedings and custody cases work. I'm doing my best with the research, but if you have more knowledge than me, please feel free to educate me on what I've messed up, or things I have missed. Your help is most appreciated!
> 
> No warnings this time. Just a healthy mixture of happy-plot and fluff, emphasis on the fluff. You're welcome!

“So, long story short, we’re out three bottles of whiskey and Mom’s threatening to ban me from Roadhouse if I ever pull a stunt like that again,” Jo said, chuckling as Dean doubled over the 2002 Saturn, clutching his sides with laughter at his friend’s story. It had been a long shift, but Bobby had paired Dean and Jo on an easy-fix car for the end of the day, and they had more than enough time to swap tales and entertain each other while changing the oil and tuning up the engine. Jo was one of Dean’s oldest friends, and it seemed that whenever he saw her she had some new story of drunken escapades, more often than not ending with a threat from Ellen to ban her from the family bar.

The car finished and ready for pick-up, Dean and Jo headed off together to the employee lockers, each of them pulling out a spare set of clean clothes before separating, Jo heading off to the Alpha locker room as Dean made his way to the Omega’s.

Having showered and changed, with the prospect of a solid paycheck in the next few days, Dean was positively content as he made his way back to his car. “Miss me, Baby?” he asked the Impala, sliding into the well-kept driver’s seat. The strong, driving beat of Alice in Chains kept him company as he made the drive home, windows down, singing along to the familiar music.

It was with pleasant surprise that Dean noticed Sam’s car parked along the street outside of his house. He grinned, pulling into the garage and turning the car off swiftly, giving the Impala a last pat before locking the door and entering the house. “Bitch, who invited you over?” he called good-naturedly, hanging his keys on a hook by the door.

“Kevin left his wallet here,” Sam called from the living room. Dean laughed, making his way over to his brother. He clapped the tall Alpha on the back, shaking his head with amusement.

“How come you didn’t bring him with you? He still at work?” Dean asked, grinning at his brother.

“Yeah, he’s determined to finish this project of his before he has to take parental leave,” Sam answered, smiling. “He’s putting in pretty long hours. I don’t expect him home before ten except on weekends, these days.”

“Kid needs to know when to take a break,” Dean snorted. “He’s gonna work himself to death at this rate. Want anything to drink?”

“Please,” Sam replied fervently. “I’d have gotten something myself, but you’ve got a visitor holed up in the kitchen, and I don’t think he wants me around.”

Dean frowned. His day had been so normal, he had almost forgotten about the Omega staying with him. “Yeah, that’s Castiel,” he told his brother. “Showed up on my doorstep last night. He’s staying with me for a little bit. I guess you startled him.”

Sam frowned, chewing his lip worriedly. “I’m guessing it’s not just a social visit,” he said finally. “I’d appreciate it if you told him I’m not going to eat him alive, though.”

“Will do,” Dean said, clapping his brother on the shoulder, before turning and making his way to the kitchen.

His nose twitched, and he inhaled the rich, tantalizing smell of well-blended spices eagerly as he stepped into the kitchen. Castiel sat quietly at the table, fiddling with a paperback. He glanced up and delivered Dean a small smile as the Omega entered the room. “What are you making?” Dean asked by way of greeting. “It smells _fantastic.”_

“It’s pasta in a garlic tomato sauce,” Castiel replied shyly, his low voice a soft, pleasing rumble. “I figured it’s the least I can do to make you dinner.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied, touched. “I’ll bet it’s delicious.” He opened the fridge, kneeling to grab two beers from the bottom shelf. “So, you met Sam. He wasn’t a giant bitch to you or anything, was he?”

“No,” Castiel answered softly. “He seems… Nice.” The Omega glanced down at his tightly clenched hands. “I heard you guys talking,” he said finally. “I know he’s not going to bite my head off. He just startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up so suddenly.”

Dean shrugged, leaning against the counter. He cracked open his beer and took a long draught of delicious, well-earned alcohol. “Fair enough,” he said calmly. “It’s not going to make you uncomfortable if I invite him to stay for dinner, is it?”

Castiel laughed, the corners of his bright blue eyes crinkling in amusement. A stab of something that almost felt like longing went through Dean’s chest, and he mentally shook himself. Now was _not_ the time for his disordered attractions to make an issue of themselves! “I’ll be all right,” the man replied, gifting Dean a small smile that sent butterflies through his stomach. “Like I said, he just startled me. I’ve had time to get used to him being here. It should not be an issue.”

Dean grinned at the other man. “Awesome,” he said cheerfully. “You should talk to him about recommending you a lawyer over dinner. Better than just going through a phone book.”

“Sam works with law?” Castiel asked, a guardedly hopeful expression making its way into his eyes.

“The kid got a full ride to Stanford,” Dean laughed, quelling the desire to reach out and ruffle Castiel's hair. Or run his fingers through his hair. Whichever. “The law school bit, at least. I think he’s still paying off his undergrad loans. Makes me glad I never went to college!”

Castiel smiled hesitantly. “At some point, I’d like to go to college,” he admitted. “I never got the chance. But I can see how money would be an issue with that.”

Dean smiled. “Plenty of places don’t need a college degree,” he explained. The timer on the stovetop beeped, and before Castiel could get up, he moved, turning off the stove and pulling out a pair of oven mitts to move the pot off the burner. He wasn’t going to let Castiel do _all_ the work, not in his own home. “I’m a certified mechanic, but that’s it. I work at a family friend’s garage, fixing cars and doing maintenance. Before that, I was an electrician.” He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel. “You want to go to college, there are jobs out there that will let you pay for it.”

“I’d rather set up a college fund for my children first,” Castiel replied, his eyes sparkling. “I can do that now. Crowley won’t help with Samandriel, at least, but I have a long time to save.”

“You got other kids too?” Dean asked, rummaging around in a drawer for silverware. It was the first time he had heard the other man refer to multiple children.

Castiel’s jaw tightened slightly. “I will,” he said finally, cocking his head at Dean. “Unless something goes terribly wrong. I’m pregnant right now.”

Dean blinked, surprised. “Well, congratulations there,” he said finally, laying out the silverware. “Hope it turns out healthy. Hey, can I call Sam in?”

Castiel nodded slowly. Dean poked his head out of the kitchen. “You want food, you’d better come get it!” he shouted, smirking as Sam rose quickly enough to knock his chair back. Sam loped into the room, an eager look plastered across his puppy-dog features. Dean turned to get plates, and nearly ran smack into Castiel, who had leapt to his feet and was hurrying to grab the pasta.

“I’ve got it,” Castiel said, waving Dean towards the table. “Sit. Do you keep your potholders by the stove?”

A few minutes later, they were all sitting around the kitchen table. Dean half moaned in delight at his first bite of the savory meal. “Damn, Cas, this is fantastic,” he groaned, shoveling another huge bite into his mouth. Next to him, Sam had cleared roughly half of his plate, eating with gusto.

“I wish I could cook like this,” Sam said appreciatively. “Kevin and I’ve basically been living on frozen food for the past couple of months. This is a nice change.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly, ducking his head. It had not escaped Dean that Castiel had become markedly quieter, almost submissive, since his brother had entered the room. Still, the man wasn’t shrinking away in terror, and he supposed that could be counted as a victory itself.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Dean was contemplating a third helping when he caught a glimpse of Castiel out of the corner of his eye. The man was fiddling with his napkin, but he sat up straight and squared his shoulders, hiding his nervous motions under the table. “Sam,” the man said quietly. “Dean tells me that you are a lawyer?”

Sam looked up, his mouth half full, a smear of pasta sauce covering his chin. He swallowed abruptly. “Yep,” he said, reaching for his napkin to clean off his face. “Passed the bar a year ago, and I’ve been working with a practice in the city ever since.”

“I see.” Castiel took a deep breath. “Do you think you could recommend a lawyer who specializes in divorce and custody cases?”

Sam frowned, resting his elbows on the table. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I know a really great custody lawyer. Jessica Moore. We actually went to school together. She’s won more cases than anyone else I know in our graduating class. I don’t know how much experience she’s got with actual divorce proceedings, though. Most of the actual divorce lawyers I know are well-established and pretty expensive.”

“I see,” Castiel said quietly. “Would you recommend just going with a public defender then? I’m afraid I don’t have much money.”

Dean had to give his brother credit. It was clear from the look on his face that he desperately wanted to ask questions, but after a moment’s pause, he shook his head and folded his hands professionally in his lap. “The public defender’s office is good as far as they go, but it usually looks better to have a lawyer you hired personally.” He caught Castiel’s gaze seriously. “I’m not trying to tout my own horn here, but I’ve handled divorce cases in the past, and I’ve done pretty well with them. If you like, I can represent you in court, and you can pay me in installments, so that you don’t have to get all your money together immediately. Of course, it also depends on what you want out of your case. If you’re just looking to break off the marriage, a public defender would be fine. If you want to set the grounds for a custody case, and possibly get alimony from your spouse, then you might want to hire someone.”

Castiel nodded, taking a moment to allow Sam’s words to sink in. “You work normal business hours, I assume?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, but I will also set up appointments off the clock in certain cases,” Sam answered calmly. “If you’d like to meet with me, say, tomorrow after work, I can arrange that.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied fervently. “This means a lot.”

“Sure,” Sam replied with a smile. “Believe it or not, we’re not all soulless money-suckers. I actually did go into law to help people.”

“And to be a soulless money-sucker,” Dean chimed in. Ignoring Sam’s protests, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Anyone up for desert? I’ve got half a pie still in the fridge, and if you guys don’t take any I’m going to eat all of it.”

The atmosphere considerably lightened, the conversation over pie turned to happier, less intense subjects. Dean related the story Jo had told him at work, which had Sam in stitches and brought a smile to Castiel’s face. Sam spoke with excitement about Kevin’s upcoming appointment with the obestrician, and how they were going to his mother’s house to announce his pregnancy that weekend. Shyly, Castiel shared his own news about his pregnancy, and Dean thought that Sam was going to hug him across the table in a fit of baby-fever.

Too soon, Sam’s phone rang, the dulcet tones of a love-song signaling that the call was from Kevin. “Looks like Kev’s off work,” Sam said, a goofy smile crossing his face. “I’d better get home so he doesn’t freak out that I’m not there. Six-o-clock tomorrow, right Cas?”

Castiel nodded, an easy smile crossing his face. Dean grinned as Sam pressed a business card into the Omega’s hand on his way out the door.  “Enjoy yourself?” he asked Castiel cheerfully.

“Your family seems nice,” Castiel replied with a tiny grin. “I’d like to meet this Kevin. Sam talks about him a lot.”

“Yeah, Sam’s the goofy-when-in-love type,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “Guy’s a chick-flick on feet. Absolutely sickening.” His face-splitting smile belied his words, and he knew it, but it made Castiel laugh, and everything was worth it.

“So, I’ve got to be up in,” Dean grimaced as he looked at the clock, “less than eight hours. Want me to show you where the blankets and stuff are before I turn in?”

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel answered, rising from his chair.

Half an hour later, Dean lay in the quiet dark of his room. He could hear Castiel shifting about in the living room, every noise a quiet reminder of his surprise guest. He wondered if Castiel was going to go to bed soon, or if he was a night owl, as Dean had been before work and adult life got in the way. An image of Castiel, relaxed and content on the couch, filled his mind, and he smiled, rolling onto his side.

Unbidden, the image shifted to Castiel on his back, naked and utterly debauched, a bright flush painting his cheeks red as his blue eyes sparkled with delight and arousal. _“Dean,”_ the image whispered, perfectly mimicking Castiel’s own alluringly low voice. _“More!”_

Dean’s cock twitched, desperately interested in the fantasy. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. He would not jerk off to the man just a few rooms away, no matter how utterly tantalizing the idea seemed. It was bad enough that he was attracted to the other Omega; he would not disrespect him so completely by letting him star in his fantasies.

Dean forced himself to turn his mind to cars. Castiel, spread out and moaning on the hood of the Impala. No, that wouldn’t work then. Old people, then; grannies with grey hair and wrinkled tits. Growing old with Castiel, making him scream Dean’s name every night. Freaking _grocery shopping._ Domesticity and contentment, peppered with lots of steaming-hot sex.

Shit.

Dean was loathe to resort to this, but he would give anything to quell his erection. He turned his mind to the deep recesses of his memories, conjuring up Alastair’s face, his sadistic grin and the way his eyes seemed to turn black with cruel arousal. Almost immediately, Dean’s erection wilted, seeming to shrivel up into his body. He shivered, wrapping his sheets firmly around his body. Apparently, the man was good for something—killing boners.

Dean let his thoughts drift into much safer territory, firmly blocking all thoughts of Castiel from his mind. Eventually, he dropped into an uneasy sleep, and when his alarm clock woke him several hours later, he felt as though he had not slept at all.


	6. Heated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean unexpectedly goes into heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had not planned on including smut for several chapters, and this whole situation did not factor into my outline. It just seemed to slip right in so perfectly that I didn't want to pass it up. That said, please give me feedback--was it too soon for Dean and Cas to have a sexual encounter, and do you think they handled it properly? I'm torn between liking this chapter quite a bit and feeling like it's contrived crap, so I'd like to know how you see it.

Dean was entirely under the burnt out shell of a 1996 Ford when the first wave of his heat crashed unexpectedly over him. He gasped, dropping the wrench, as his core seemed to melt with increased temperature, slick dribbling unrelentingly down his thighs. As unobtrusively as he could, he slipped out from under the car and went looking for Bobby. Finishing his shift was out of the question today. His birth control pack must have been defective, he thought angrily. This was the third time this had happened in the two years he had been using this brand; clearly, it was time to make a switch.

He found the man in the garage, pouring over a large, dusty book of records. “I need to clock out early,” Dean said abruptly. Bobby glanced up, startled, his eyes lighting on Dean. He wrinkled his nose, the heat-strengthened smell of Dean’s pheromones permeating the air.

“Go sign out,” Bobby said, gesturing at the employee record book. “You gonna be all right to drive home?”

“It just started, so I have some time,” Dean said tightly, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. God, he hated going into heat in public. It was humiliating, and it left him feeling like a beacon for any horny Alpha or Beta who came sniffing around his way. Dean was just glad that he had been working alone, rather than with a partner, when his body had decided to ignore his birth control.

Dean signed out quickly, his hands shaking. The early effects of heat would not impair him too much; sure, he was burning up and his body was steadily becoming more and more aroused, but he had at least half an hour before he devolved into a mess of hormones and need. That should be enough time to get home, right?

Dean gripped the steering wheel hard the entire ride home, every bump and jolt in the road sending shocks of stimulation through his hyper-sensitive body. By the time he parked the car, he was a shaking mess, barely able to stand without convulsing as demanding waves of need raced through him. He stumbled through the door and collapsed, panting, on the couch. He stripped off his shirt and lay flat on his back, his hips twitching at empty air.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice drifted into the room. Dean’s head snapped around as the sweet, consuming scent of _Omega, fellow Omega, Cas, beautiful Cas_ floated past him. The man stood nervously in the doorway to the living room, twisting his hands uncertainly in front of him. _So gorgeous._ Novels could be written about that creamy expanse of skin on the Omega’s neck, about his clear, glimmering eyes, about the shadows of his shapely cheekbones and those soft, delectable lips.

“Cas.” The word slipped from Dean’s lips in a wanton moan. “Cas, help me. I need, Cas. Help.”

Castiel hesitated. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly. “I know the presence of another Omega can be frustrating when you’re in heat—”

“No!” Dean cried desperately. How could this perfect angel, this specimen of beauty and walking sex, think that he would be unwelcome during Dean’s heat? “No, Cas, don’t go. Please don’t go. Please stay with me,” he begged, gripping the arm of the couch.

Castiel hesitated, and then gingerly walked into the room, perching awkwardly in an armchair near Dean. Dean greedily inhaled the other man’s scent, turning his lust-filled gaze towards the Omega beside him. “Never liked heat,” he babbled, reaching out and seizing Castiel’s hand in a crushing grip. “Makes me want. I don’t want to want, Cas,” he mumbled, rolling over so that he could bury his face in Castiel’s palm.

“I don’t think any of us like our heats, Dean,” Castiel replied dryly. A gentle hand stroked Dean’s hair; he moaned, arching his head up into the contact. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

_Yes,_ Dean thought frantically. Cas could strip, could pin Dean to the couch and grind him to release, could swallow him down, could offer up that shapely ass for Dean or maybe even take Dean himself—but even in his heat addled state, Dean knew better than to tell the other man this. Castiel would be disgusted if he knew the freakish thoughts that were flying through Dean’s head. He contented himself with releasing a low moan, rubbing his face against Castiel’s hand. This was more contact than he had ever had with another Omega during his heats, and surely he could come just from Castiel’s proximity, from the feeling of the other man’s fingers against his face, massaging his cheeks, running sinfully over his lips.

Dean chanced a glance at Castiel. The other man’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated as he stared at Dean with a blank, unreadable gaze. Dean knew he was on thin ice, dangerously close to revealing his disordered tendencies, but he had never _wanted_ so badly in his life. Dean groaned, his mouth falling slack as Castiel trailed his fingers around Dean’s lips, sending a surge of wild need to his groin.

He needed Cas. He needed him, and suddenly it no longer mattered if Castiel knew just how depraved Dean was—he had to do something, or he was going to go mad from lust and heat. “Cas,” he breathed again, panting. _“Help me.”_

0o0o0o0o0

It was a turn of events that Castiel would have never expected. Dean sprawled on the couch, his shirt in a heap on the floor, clinging to Castiel’s hand as though losing the contact would kill him. Most Omegas in heat could not stand the presence of others of their sex, the need to breed and mate and be the most desirable one to any nearby Alphas or Betas consuming all rational thought. Castiel himself was a rare exception, but he would have never expected Dean to be as well.

The event brought back memories, flashes of his teenage years. The heated touch of flesh on flesh, the cries of his boyfriend, his own desperate need. Castiel had never felt limited to Alphas and Betas, but he knew that he was an oddity, an unspoken rarity in their world. The idea that Dean might crave the touch of another Omega had never even crossed his mind. Was that why the man lived alone, despite his beauty and his kindness? Was he even aware that there were others like him out there?

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine as Dean fixed him with a lust-filled gaze, his pupils blown, barely a ring of green visible in his eyes. “Cas,” the man moaned, arching into the air. _“Help me.”_

How many heats had Dean suffered through without realizing that there were people like him out there to ease the pain? Castiel squeezed the man’s hand and dropped from the chair, shuffling on his knees to sit beside him. “Dean,” he began, carefully laying his free hand on the man’s stomach, his heart pounding wildly with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “You need only ask. If I am reading this situation wrong, you can stop me at any time.”

A wordless moan slid from between Dean’s flushed lips. Castiel wet his own lips with his suddenly unnaturally dry tongue, sliding his hands down Dean’s body to palm his crotch. Dean gasped, bucking frantically into the touch. Castiel shushed him, working the button of his jeans open with nimble fingers. He stared into Dean’s face, searching for a sign that he should stop, that he had completely misunderstood the Omega’s desires. Nothing but lust and want and need stared back at him, sweat rolling down Dean’s face as he panted, too far gone to even be shocked at Castiel’s actions.

Carefully, Castiel slid his hand beneath the waistband of Dean’s pants, pulling the man’s erection free of its confines. Dean threw his head back and whined, his eyes squeezing shut, his grip on Castiel’s hand tightening to the point of pain. Castiel ignored the discomfort, wrapping his fist around Dean’s swollen, purpling cock. “It’s okay,” he murmured, slowly sliding his hand up the man’s shaft, stroking him deliberately. “I’ve got you, Dean.”

“Cas,” the man gasped, his hips stuttering as Castiel stroked him insistently. “Cas, Cas, oh god _Cas,”_ he moaned, a litany of praises and curses spilling from his lips, intermixed with Castiel’s name.

Castiel bit his lip, his own cock perking up with interest. That was something he could take care of later. For now, Dean needed him, and he was much too inexperienced for Castiel to try anything that would require reciprocation. Castiel swept his thumb over Dean’s cockhead, smearing precum over the organ, the droplets of liquid slicking the man’s erection, easing the slide of Castiel’s hand.

Dean jerked, his orgasm ripping through his body, spilling over Castiel’s hand and onto his stomach. He sank back, boneless, into the couch, chanting Castiel’s name over and over until it was nothing but an incoherent mutter, his eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion.

Castiel withdrew his hand, wiping it on the underside of his shirt. He could wash up and change in a moment. For now, it was important that he get Dean into the bedroom to ride out the rest of his heat somewhere comfortable.

Lifting Dean took some effort. The man was all dead weight and muscle, too far gone to adjust his weight and make it easier on Castiel. Cas staggered slightly, his muscles burning as he carried Dean into the bedroom.

Gently, Castiel laid Dean down on his bed. With steady hands, he rolled Dean’s jeans off of his legs, tossing them in the laundry basket in the corner. “Will you be okay on your own?” he asked quietly, smoothing Dean’s sweat-drenched hair back with a tender hand.

Dean sighed in response, clearly hovering on the edge of consciousness. With a small smile, Castiel withdrew his hand, taking a moment to gaze at the sated man before him. He turned, exiting the bedroom in favor of the bathroom, to wash his hands and take care of his own arousal.

Thinking back, Castiel wondered how he had not made the connection previously. He had caught Dean staring at him with longing the day before, and had simply interpreted the stares as a platonic desire to help him, maybe to know more about him. He had to give Dean credit—he would have never put all the pieces together had the man not come home consumed with heat-addled lust. He wished there was a way to express to Dean that his preferences were perfectly natural and far from anomalous, and maybe there would be when Dean came down from his heat.

Castiel sighed, resting his head against the bathroom wall. There was nothing to do but wait.

0o0o0o0o0

It took a full day for Dean’s heat to run its course, a long, agonizing day of desire and need. Dean was worn out by the end of it, as he always was, but as the last traces of increased temperature and animalistic lust worked their way from his body, he could at least take comfort in knowing that he had another full month until the cycle hit again. Damn defective birth control.

Dean felt sick as the memories of what had happened on the couch ran through his mind, refusing to let him rest. _He knows,_ his traitor brain sing-songed. _He knows you’re a freak. He’s going to leave and find somewhere else to stay. Somewhere without nasty, twisted sickos like you, perverts who invite people to stay and take advantage of them._ God, something was wrong with him. What sort of person invited someone to seek sanctuary in their house and then emotionally coerced them into giving sexual favors? He was as bad as Alastair—no, he was worse. He was worse, because he had made Cas think that he was safe, and then he had allowed his damn body and his damn twisted desires to emotionally blackmail the man.

A knock on the door jerked Dean from his thoughts. “Dean?” Castiel’s voice was soft, questioning from behind the flimsy barrier. “I made soup. You need to eat and get some liquids in you.”

“Go away,” Dean moaned despondently, burying his face in his pillow. God, how was Cas being so nice to him? How could the man even stand to acknowledge him?

The door clicked open. Dean was determined to not look at Castiel, even as the bed dipped, informing Dean that his guest had settled down next to him. He flinched as Castiel laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Castiel asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Why’d you let me do that?” Dean asked, his words muffled by the thick pillow. “God, Cas, I didn’t want—I never meant—” his throat seized up. He was embarrassingly close to breaking down in tears right in front of the other man.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his low voice soothing. Dean didn’t deserve his comfort. “Dean, listen to me. It’s all right.”

“It’s _not,”_ Dean insisted, turning his face away from Castiel, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “Bad enough that I’m a freak. Worse that you know. But I—God, Cas, I didn’t have the right to do that to you!”

“Dean, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Castiel replied calmly. “You were in heat. You had a physical reaction, and it’s only natural. You did not take my hand and force me to help you out. I made that choice myself.”

Dean shook his head, because no way that Cas believed his own words. Then again, maybe he did. Maybe years of being treated like a fucking sex toy had made the man think that he had to pleasure anyone who threw a lusty look in his direction.

Castiel sighed, his fingers gently kneading Dean’s shoulders, massaging the knots from his back. Dean did not deserve the touch, but he was selfish enough to sink into the comfort, allowing it to distract him from some of his regret and self-pity. “I met with Sam yesterday,” Castiel said quietly. “We should be getting the divorce proceedings underway soon. I can’t thank you enough for introducing me to him.”

Dean huffed, sitting up and knocking Castiel’s hand away. “So, what, you thank me by letting me coerce you into giving me sexual favors?”

“What?” Castiel sounded startled. “Dean, no. That’s not—”

“Stop it, Cas. Please,” Dean begged, his words pitiful in his ears. “Can we just—I don’t have the right to ask for this, but please, can we just forget this happened?”

Castiel exhaled heavily. “All right, Dean,” he replied quietly, resigned. “Now will you please come eat something?”

Dean nodded, his chest tightening heavily. He didn’t deserve to have Cas taking care of him like this. Still, the man seemed determined to treat him like he wasn’t a damn sick fuck, so he allowed himself to be led into the kitchen, where Castiel already had a bowl of soup and a glass of water waiting for him.

When Castiel had been free from his husband a while longer, he’d start to get his head on straight again. He’d realize exactly how disgusting Dean was, how out of line he had been. He’d be repulsed by Dean, as he should be. Dean did not have the right to cling to moments like these, to wish that the man would stay, quiet and steady and without judgment. But he was just selfish enough that he wanted Castiel to stick around, so he ate his soup quietly, burying his guilt in the back of his mind to face later, when he could handle it.


	7. Meetings and Reconnections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have Sam and Kevin over for dinner. Through casual conversation, Castiel and Kevin learn that they have a mutual friend. Castiel sets forth to reconnect with this figure from his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, work is kicking my ass, but I finally got this chapter finished and up to standards! Have some absolutely smothering domesticity and fluff. This chapter is actually very important in setting up the story as a whole, but it really doesn't seem that way when reading through it, or so I think.

_“So, there’s no chance that Crowley will accept your request for a divorce gracefully.”_ Sam’s voice was resigned, crackling slightly through the phone. _“We served him his papers today, and he all but threw us out of the house. It looks like this is going to have to go to court.”_

“I figured,” Castiel said, twining the phone cord around his fingers. “So, where do we go from here?”

Sam sighed. _“From here, we submit a request through the system, and find a judge to take the case. If you’re all right with it, I can pick you up before work tomorrow and take you down to the courthouse to meet with the people in charge of arranging trials.”_

“That sounds good.” Castiel smiled slightly. “Are you and Kevin still coming to Dean’s place for dinner tonight? We can work out the details then.”

_“Of course,”_ Sam answered quickly. _“Kevin wants to meet you. He actually took the evening off, which he hasn’t done in weeks.”_ Sam chuckled dryly. _“It will probably be best to discuss the details of the proceedings in person anyways. I’ll borrow you after dinner, and Kevin and Dean can entertain each other.”_

_“It’s a plan,”_ Castiel promised. He bade Sam farewell and placed the phone back in its cradle, turning to survey the empty house.

Knowing that there would be company that night spurred Castiel into gear. He felt much more at ease with Sam than he had when he met the man, and Dean and the much spoken-of Kevin did not worry him much, but it was a long ingrained habit to clean the house and set up elaborate meals when visitors would be dropping by. Dean was not a pig, but he was no neat freak, and despite the small size of the house, Castiel figured that it would take several hours to get the place up to standards.

Castiel almost did not hear Dean come in over the sound of the vacuum cleaner. The man stared around the room, his green eyes huge as he took in the pristine state of his furniture and carpeting. “Damn, Cas, you didn’t have to clean,” he said finally, running a hand through his short, light hair. “I would’ve gotten it if you’d said something.”

Castiel smiled wryly, turning the vacuum cleaner off. It was good enough—this was a family gathering, not a business event. Well, family plus himself, but on a personal level, he did not feel the need to have completely spotless living quarters. “I probably would have followed after you out of habit,” he explained, tilting his head slightly. “There is no need for us to both expend the effort.”

Dean shook his head. “Well, it looks great,” he said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Dean had been skittish around him ever since he had come down from his heat. That was something that Castiel truly regretted. He wished that he knew how to broach the subject with his host, if nothing else to clear the unbearably tense air between the two of them. Perhaps he was simply a coward. It was much easier to believe that things would settle back into a comfortable dynamic on their own than to face the idea that he might have to have an uncomfortable conversation with the man who had done so much for him.

The arrival of Sam and Kevin spared Castiel further unsettling thoughts. Kevin turned out to be a bright, intense young man, happy and full of life. It was easy to see, even in the smallest of interactions, how he and Sam meant the world to each other. When Sam spoke, Kevin listened intently, not out of subservience but out of genuine interest. When Sam thought no one was looking, he twined his fingers about Kevin’s and held him close, holding him comfortably, as though they were the only two in the world.

Kevin, it turned out, was a medical researcher. Castiel was fascinated. It was rare for Omegas to get their foot in the door in high-level research fields, but he could see how the man was one of the lucky ones. His passion for his work oozed from every word he spoke, igniting curiosity in Castiel despite his lack of knowledge in the area. Dinner was a relaxed event, their stove cooked hamburgers accompanied by easy chatter and cheerful conversation. Castiel was sure that his face would split in half from smiling so much.

“Ah man, that was fantastic,” Kevin said as he put away a second slice of Castiel’s homemade chocolate cheesecake. “I didn’t know you could actually make stuff like this without a restaurant level kitchen.”

Castiel flushed with pride, ducking his head. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said, scraping his fork idly along his long-cleared plate.

“Yeah, it’s almost as good as pie,” Dean piped up from the other end of the table. He yelped as Sam aimed a good-natured kick at his leg. “What? It’s a compliment, damnit!”

“I’ll make you pie later,” Castiel promised, chuckling as Dean’s eyes lit up with anticipation.

“You’d better save me a piece,” Kevin demanded, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. “I’m gonna have to tell Charlie that I got to eat an actual meal. She’s been going as crazy as the research team with all the inputs we’re giving her to graph. I doubt she’s eaten anything but fast food in a month.”

“You get along well with your co-workers, then?” Castiel asked with interest. Crowley had always spoken of co-workers and staff as a necessary blight, incompetent creatures who scuttled underfoot, the bane of the corporate world. It was refreshing to hear a more positive perspective; it gave Castiel hope that if he ever entered the work force, he would come home with interesting stories and an expanded social circle, rather than forced connections and strained relations.

“Yeah, Charlie’s a hoot,” Kevin replied cheerfully. “She’s not really my co-worker, since she works with data and computers as opposed to actual research and experiments. She’s really fun though. Keeps saying that she’s going to rope me and Sam into a Dungeons and Dragons game as soon as we get this project finished. Sam’s terrified that she’ll actually go through with it.”

“I am not,” Sam protested around a mouthful of cheesecake. “I like Charlie. She’s very… enthusiastic.”

Castiel smiled. “I had a friend named Charlie when I was younger,” he said, fond memories coming to mind. “She was into computers and tabletops as well. Tried to get me into some live action thing called Moondor, but I was never interested.”

Kevin sat up, resting an elbow on the table. “Maybe it’s the same person. The Charlie I know LARPs,” he said. “Red-headed Alpha? Completely obsessed with Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter?”

Castiel blinked a couple times. “Yes, actually,” he said slowly. “She had a Hermione key-chain that she talked at when she was trying to convince herself to do something.”

“And she called it H, rather than her full name?” Kevin demanded quickly.

Castiel exhaled. “Small world,” he said, smiling nostalgically. “I think this might be the same person. She’s doing well, then?”

“Yeah, if you call head of the IT department for a major research company doing well!” Kevin laughed, shaking his head. “Want her number? Knowing her, she’d be thrilled to hear from a blast from the past.”

Castiel hesitated, at war with himself. Meeting up with Charlie again could be painful. He had not exactly ended their friendship well—technically, he had not ended it at all. As with all his other relationships, he had simply disappeared from Charlie’s life when he married Crowley. On the other hand, what better way to start getting his life back than to reconnect with some of the people he had lost? “Yeah, can you write it down?” he asked. “I’ll give her a call at some point, see how she’s doing.”

“Dude, forget calling, invite her over!” Dean suggested. “I’ve met Charlie. Kid’s like the pain-in-the-neck sister I never wanted. Almost like you, but with even more nerd,” he directed at Kevin, who dipped his fingers in his water and flicked them at Dean.

Sam and Kevin left well after eleven, and Dean turned in as soon as they were out the door, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts. He glanced at the paper, sitting innocuously beside the landline. It wouldn’t do much good to worry about it now; he would call over the weekend. That would give him some time to work up the nerve to face his past.

0o0o0o0o0

Charlie’s tongue was fully down her girlfriend’s throat when the morbidly cheerful tones of “Still Alive” interrupted their rare moment of quiet. Jo pulled back, smiling fondly at the other Alpha. “You should get that,” she said, shoving her girlfriend affectionately.

“But we were having sexy times,” Charlie complained, reaching for the cell phone nonetheless. All of her named contacts had personalized ringtones; she had to admit, she was curious about the unknown number on the screen.

“Yes, and I will be naked in your bed by the time you get off the phone,” Jo offered seductively, winking at the other woman. Charlie gulped, heat pooling in her stomach at the positively wicked woman’s words.

“You’d better be,” she replied, fumbling for the answer key on her phone. Jo slid off her lap, hips swaying in exaggerated motions as she sauntered towards Charlie’s bedroom. Charlie tore her thoughts away from the positively sinful plans she had for the afternoon to focus on the device in her hand. “Mad genius queen of Moondor speaking, how shall you please me?” she answered. It was probably someone from LARP, after all; if it wasn’t, well, then the person on the other end would get a pleasantly surprising greeting.

_“Charlie Bradbury?”_   The speaker was a man, his gravelly voice low and nervous. Charlie frowned; this wasn’t someone from LARP. Most of them only knew each other by character names.

“Yeah, this is Charlie,” she said, pulling her knees up onto the couch. “Who am I talking to?”

_“This, um,”_ the man said, fumbling over his words. _“This is Castiel.”_

Charlie blinked, momentarily shocked into silence. “Castiel?” she said finally. “As in Cas? Cas Milton?”

_“Yeah, it’s been a while,”_ Castiel said with a shaky laugh. Now that she had a name, Charlie had no idea how she had not recognized Castiel’s distinctive voice the moment she heard it. Sure, it had been years, but she could never forget her best friend from her high school years.

“Damn, you’re not dead!” she blurted out after a moment’s pause. “I—that is, um it’s good to hear from you, Cas. How did you get my number? Not that I mind you having my number, but, I mean, it’s just that it’s been years since I’ve heard from you. How have you been?”

_“Well, as you said, I’m not dead, so I could be worse.”_ Charlie rolled her eyes with a long suffering sigh. _“And I got your number from Kevin. I’m staying with his husband’s brother.”_

“With Dean?” Charlie asked, interested. “You getting some Winchester ass to pass the time or something?”

_“I should have known you’d say something like that. No, it’s not like that at all. Dean’s helping me get back on my feet.”_

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Charlie said, frowning. “Tell me you didn’t end up a crack-whore or something when you fell off the map.”

_“Nothing even remotely that pleasant,”_ Castiel replied wryly. Damn, she hadn’t realized how much she missed that kid’s wit. _“Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Kevin mentioned knowing you, and I just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.”_

“Man, I am _fantastic,”_ Charlie groaned, throwing a glance in the direction of her bedroom. “And I’m actually going to have to keep this conversation pretty short. No offense, Cas, but you’re sort of cock-blocking me right now.”

_“Oh!”_ Despite his exclamation, Castiel did not sound surprised in the least. _“Nice to know that some things never change.”_

There was a slight scuffle on the other end, and suddenly Dean Winchester’s voice sounded through the phone. _“Hi Charlie, it’s Dean. Cas is just gonna pussy-foot around this because he feels awkward or something. You, my house, dinner, either tonight or tomorrow. You and Cas can play catch-up, and I might even let you rope me into playing that nerdy game, what’s its face.”_

“You mean GURPS?” Charlie asked, grinning evilly. “Because I’ve got a wicked plotline that will have you bawling like a baby before we’re done. You asked for it! No backing out now!”

_“Yeah, yeah. Passing the phone back to Cas now.”_

Castiel sounded almost embarrassed when he spoke again. _“So, I guess you’re invited over,”_ he said. _“Either of those days work for you?”_

Jo had a shift at the bar tonight. If Dean and Cas were okay with eating late… “If you’re cool with me getting there at like eight or so, I can do dinner tonight,” she said, tapping her toes against the soft couch cushions. “Sound good?”

_“Yeah. I’ll quick cock-blocking you now,”_ Cas replied teasingly.

“You’re the best. Now you—go get some Winchester! That’s an order, not a suggestion!” Charlie said, laughing.

_“That’s it, you’re not invited anymore.”_

Charlie snickered. “See you tonight!” she said, hanging up the phone and rising from the couch, divesting herself of her shirt as she prowled towards the bedroom. She knew better than to keep the firecracker in her bed waiting, after all.


	8. Solidarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Charlie comes to visit, Dean learns that he is not alone in his appetites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freaking finally, the semester is about to start. I go back to the dorms tomorrow--yay! Believe it or not, this means I'll probably have MORE time to write, because I won't be working an energy-sapping office job. School actually inspires me to write; cubicles and mindless intern work do not.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated! You guys are the best.

“What’s up, bitches?”

Dean grinned as Charlie stepped through the door, her long red hair slightly damp from the drizzle falling lightly outside. “Nothing much. Living the high life of a grease monkey, enjoying the glamor of cheap booze and shady bars—you know, the dream.” Charlie laughed, shucking her sneakers into the corner and giving Dean a quick hug.

Castiel lurked nervously behind Dean, wrapped in a borrowed flannel and pair of jeans that were much too big for him. The bruises on his face had faded to a pale yellow, but Dean could see the frown in Charlie’s eyes as she noticed the discolored skin. “What, no hug?” she demanded, mock-insulted as she glared teasingly at Castiel. “It’s been like ten years and you’re still playing the aloof card?”

Castiel chuckled, embracing his childhood friend. Dean smiled at the picture they made, ignoring the slight pull of jealousy in his chest. He wasn’t going to begrudge Castiel a hug with his friend, and it was none of his business if they would make a cute couple. Hell, it would probably be good for the man. A relationship with a kind, cheerful Alpha was a far cry from the man’s abusive marriage, and infinitely preferable to dating Dean, another Omega. Nope, not jealous at all.

The pair separated, and Dean inwardly scolded the part of him that was glad for the distance. None of his business. It was none of his business.

“So yeah, sorry to be so late. My… company just headed out for her shift, and I wasn’t going to leave early.” Charlie grinned salaciously, leaving no question as to what she and her ‘company’ had been up to. Dean most certainly did _not_ breathe easier for the implication. That would be ridiculous. He was not relieved that Charlie was already attached and off limits to Cas.

_Denial’s a bitch, isn’t it, boy?_

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas assured the woman. “It’s the weekend. I’m just glad that you’re free at all.”

“Hell yes!” Charlie replied cheerfully. “You think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to find out what you’ve been up to for all these years? Seriously, I thought you either hated me or were dead.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Castiel scoffed. “Move to the kitchen? We’ve had dinner set out for a bit.”

“Ugh, god yes, I am _starving,”_ Charlie groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Kevin keeps being a braggy jackass about getting to eat your cooking while I’m living off Biggerson’s. I want to wipe that smug grin off his face.”

Dean chortled, amused. That was one thing he’d always liked about Charlie—she could pick a completely pointless catfight with the best of them, and come out of it without looking like a bitch. He had to get her to teach him that art someday.

Dean supposed he was going to have to get used to every visitor spending the first ten minutes of their meals raving over Castiel’s food. Really, it was not such a bad thing. Castiel was positively adorable, the way he ducked his head and flushed every time someone insisted that he could be a chef, or that they were going to kidnap him for his cooking abilities. Someday, Dean was going to have to document that face on camera.

“So, Cas. Living with Dean, huh?” Charlie asked, positively waggling her eyebrows at the man. “Got any fun stories for me with that?”

Castiel tensed almost imperceptibly. “It’s really not a fun story at all,” he said finally, folding his hands in his lap.

“So you didn’t meet in a strip club and hit it off, or something?” Charlie sighed dramatically. “Ruining my dreams, Castiel. How am I supposed to tease you guys now?”

Something was odd about Charlie’s words. It was almost as if she was implying that Dean and Castiel were an item, or something. But that was ridiculous—Charlie was damn aware that Dean was an Omega, and there was no mistaking Castiel for anything else. Clearly, Dean needed to get his head out of the filthy, twisted gutter.

“What, is that where you met your partner?” Castiel asked, deftly sidestepping Charlie’s implied question of how he wound up at Dean’s place.

“Nothing so fun. A bar. She was at work, I was having a drink, I might have gotten a bit too wasted and hit on her. Imagine my surprise when she hit on me back,” Charlie said with a laugh.

Castiel smiled. “I take it the bar in question was not The Joint,” he said, “if you were that worried about being rejected.”

“Nah, some little place called Roadhouse. Cute bar, cute bartender.”

“Roadhouse?” Dean blurted out, confused. The last time he had been to Roadhouse, Ellen and Jo had tended bar as usual, with Ash in the back. Ellen and Jo were both Alphas, and unless Ash had mysteriously been tending bar that night…

“Yeah. You know the place?” Charlie asked brightly, leaning back in her chair.

“The Harvelles are old family friends,” Dean said slowly, turning the implications over in his brain. It was impossible. No, clearly they had hired someone else on to help. He must have just missed every single one of their shifts.

“Oh, neat! Then you know Jo,” Charlie said with an easy smile.

“Yeah, but—” Dean frowned, struggling to order his bewildered thoughts. “You’re not… You’re not dating _Jo,_ are you?” he asked, waiting for Charlie to throw him a confused look, or react with disgust.

“That’s the one!” Charlie answered. “Took care of my plastered ass, talked me out of a really awful tattoo that seemed like a good idea to my drunk head, then took me upstairs after close, and I’ll stop there lest I offend innocent ears.” She smirked, chuckling at the confusion that beamed like a beacon from Dean’s face.

“But you’re both Alphas,” Dean said finally. “Doesn’t that, you know, bother you?”

Charlie glanced at Castiel. “Pretty far in the dark, isn’t he?” she asked.

“I haven’t exactly talked about that part of my life with him,” Castiel answered, shifting slightly. If anything, Dean was even more lost than he had been before.

“Hoo boy. Nothing like naivety to make a conversation awkward,” Charlie said, clasping her hands together. “Sorry, Dean. I thought you knew. I’m not exactly into Betas or Omegas.”

Her words should have been thrilling. Dean might be a freak, but apparently he was not an anomaly. He was much too overwhelmed to appreciate the enormity of the situation, however, and he buried his face in his hands. “I mean, I’m not exactly gonna judge you or anything, but that’s… That’s weird,” he said finally.

_Weird like you, boy? Nasty and perverted, just like you. Met a fellow pervert—you should be excited!_

“Yeah, I guess,” Charlie said with a shrug. “I don’t know. It’s never seemed weird to me. I get that reaction a lot though. Most of us aren’t quite as open about this sort of thing as I am.”

_Most of us?_ How many others could there possibly be? Dean shook himself, struggling to get his brain back on track.

“I guess it’s a lot to take in,” Charlie said finally. “Okay. Rapid subject change. I believe you agreed to submit yourself to my GM skills of doom.”

Dean had no doubt that at any other time, he would have found Charlie’s plotline fascinating and her characters compelling. With his head stuffed with knowledge he had never imagined, however, he had trouble concentrating on the game for more than a few seconds at a time. Eventually, he dropped out, claiming tiredness, but inviting Charlie to stay and continue the plotline with Cas.

Charlie protested—“You can’t play a tabletop with only two people!”—but Castiel cut her off with a pointed look. Dean felt a surge of gratitude towards the man, and made a mental note to thank him in the morning. He was barely aware of his actions as he moved on autopilot, stripping off his shirt and jeans in favor of a pair of old sweats, brushing his teeth until his gums bled.

Dean’s head was marginally less muddled by the time he allowed his body to collapse onto the firm, half-made bed. There were Alphas who were interested in other Alphas. How did that even work? Who took charge in the relationship—did they even worry about that? Beta couples didn’t. Hell, most healthy, normal couples that Dean knew of didn’t seem to concern themselves with issues of dominance and submission. That was the backwards forte of history. Okay, maybe that wasn’t an issue then.

Moreover, how would it work with a pair of Omegas? Was it possible? Dean groaned, burying his face in his pillow. It wasn’t going to happen. He needed to get himself off this train of thought before he got carried away. There were some things that he was simply not going to have, and a shared life with someone was one of them.

A soft tap on the bedroom door jarred him from his musings. “Dean? Are you awake?” Castiel’s voice was soft, sweet, and entirely the opposite of what Dean needed to change the direction of his thoughts.

He got up anyway, opening the door just wide enough to let Castiel in. “You all right, Cas?” he asked, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Lightly, Castiel perched at the foot of the bed, smoothing his hand absently over rumpled sheets.

The silence seemed to hang awkwardly in the air for several long minutes. Just as Dean was considering telling Castiel that he really did need to go to bed, the other man spoke. “I’m sorry if Charlie upset you. I know a lot of people find the idea of same sex relationships strange, even unnerving. She’s so open with it, and I’m so used to it, it didn’t even register as something that might be problematic if it came up.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Dean said, rubbing his temples tiredly. “It was unexpected, that’s all. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Castiel was silent for a moment. “I met Charlie at a bar called The Joint in high school. We both snuck in on fake IDs, and we hit it off as friends because there wasn’t really anyone else our age around,” he said finally. “It was a club for people like Charlie. People like me.”

Dean’s hands dropped abruptly. He had to be misunderstanding Castiel’s words. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully, his heart thudding in his chest.

“I mean that I don’t limit myself to Alphas and Betas.” Castiel stared at his hands, clasped limply in his lap. “I’ve been with other Omegas before, Dean. Charlie and I differ in that she exclusively prefers Alphas, and I just don’t have a preference. So. The Joint was a bar where Alphas could meet Alphas and Omegas could meet Omegas. Some people went to hook up, some went looking for relationships, and some of us just went because we liked knowing we weren’t alone.”

Dean gulped. “I see,” he said finally, the unspoken question hanging heavily in the air.

Castiel’s lips twitched. “It worked out pretty well for a while,” he said. “Charlie met another Alpha named Meg, and I met an Omega named Balthazar. We were all still in school, all just looking for a place to belong, but we ended up coupling off. In public, I pretended to date Meg, and Charlie and Balthazar pretended to be a couple. In private, and at The Joint, we didn’t have to hide.” Castiel laughed wryly. “It was nice while it lasted.”

“What happened?” Dean asked softly.

Castiel sighed, idly tracing patterns over the sheets. “My aunt Naomi caught me with Balthazar. It would be an understatement to say that she was livid,” he said. “She shipped me off to a single sex school for a year—of course, clearly the only way to cure me of my attraction to Omegas was to surround me with them. She didn’t think that through very well.” Castiel swallowed hard. “Anyways, my siblings convinced her to bring me back after a year, but she kept me under close watch. Homeschooling, never allowed to leave the house, the works.”

“That sounds awful,” Dean murmured, his chest tightening in sympathy.

“Honestly? It was, but I would have lived.” Castiel glanced up at Dean, his eyes guarded. “My aunt is a businesswoman, and pretty high up with her company. Last I heard, she was on the board of directors. She hosted a lot of business get-togethers at the house.” A frown tugged at Castiel’s lips, marring his lovely face. “That’s where I met Crowley.”

“Cas, you don’t need to tell me this,” Dean whispered. Castiel held up a hand, silencing him.

“I’ve never told anyone the whole story, and I need to finish explaining. Assuming you’re open to hearing it, that is.”

Dean nodded, fisting his hands in the sheets.

“Crowley was one of Naomi’s business rivals. They attended all the same events and included each other on guest lists, but they hated each other’s guts. Still do, as far as I am aware.” Castiel shrugged, tense shoulders rolling gracefully beneath his shirt. “I was only seventeen, and he had a good dozen years on me, but he showed an interest in me. I didn’t know him, but I knew my aunt hated him, and starting something up with him seemed like the perfect way to spite her. We eloped shortly after I turned eighteen.” Castiel shook his head. “It was a damn stupid decision, but it seemed like the best thing at the time.

“I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since then. Obviously.” Castiel’s lips twitched, and Dean returned his small smile with one of his own, though he doubted it was very convincing. “That doesn’t change who I am, though. I thought things could work with Crowley because I was interested in Alphas, but I didn’t think my decision through at all. For me, it’s about the person, not their sex, and Crowley is a terrible person. I still resent my aunt for shipping me away, and I think that she was wrong to judge me so harshly simply for dating someone forbidden. We weren’t hurting anyone, and it was nothing but bias and prejudice that led her to think I needed fixing.” Castiel met Dean’s gaze, icy blue eyes flashing. Dean wished that he could understand what was going on behind that set and determined expression. “You have the right to know this. Partially because you seemed uncomfortable when Charlie told you her preferences, and partially—”

“Because of my heat?” Dean asked before he could stop himself.

Castiel caught his lower lip between bright white teeth. “Yes,” he said finally. “I apologize if I misread your desires. I wanted to tell you that I did not feel compelled to please you, but did it because I wanted to. If that makes you—”

Later, Dean would wonder what had possessed him to be so forward. He reached for Castiel, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him in close, pressing their lips together in a hard, desperate kiss.

A small noise of surprise slipped out of Castiel’s mouth. Dean started to pull back, but a hand on the back of his head stopped him from moving. Castiel fisted his hand gently in Dean’s hair, wrapping his free arm around Dean’s waist. Dean opened his mouth automatically as Castiel’s tongue probed at his lips, questing for entrance. Desire pooled in his belly as Castiel swept his tongue through Dean’s mouth, his sweet taste sending shivers of pleasure running through Dean’s body. His every nerve was on fire; hungrily, he fisted his hands in Castiel’s shirt, reveling in the sensation of the man’s hard, flat chest pressed flush against his own.

They kissed for several minutes, their tongues twining about each other, exploring each other’s mouths. Finally, Castiel drew back, releasing Dean’s head, his bright eyes glinting against flush cheeks. “Dean,” he whispered, staring at the man with wide, lust-filled eyes. Dean licked his lips, which hummed with the memory of Castiel’s skin.

“I don’t want to push you,” Dean said, releasing the other man and scooting back a few inches. “Hell, I don’t think I could do much more than that if I wanted to. It’s—this is just a lot to take in, you know?”

“I understand.” Castiel sighed, clasping his hands together. “I don’t think I’m ready for anything fast paced. Really, I probably shouldn’t get involved with you at all, but…”

“But?” Dean prodded when Castiel went silent.

“But I want to,” Castiel said finally. “I don’t know if I can do a relationship, emotional or physical. I want to try, but—”

“We can take this day by day,” Dean promised him, his heart fluttering nervously. He had just kissed Castiel. He had kissed Castiel, and the man had not shoved him away or left in horror. Castiel was _like_ him, there were other people like him out there, and maybe he wasn’t such a freak after all. “Shit, I wouldn’t know what to do even if we were both, you know, ready.”

Castiel smiled down at his hands. “If we get to that point, we’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. He hesitated, before turning his gaze back to Dean. “If—if this doesn’t work out, if it’s too much, do you think we can go back to how we’ve been for the past several days?”

Dean nodded, meeting Castiel’s gaze. God, he could lose himself in those eyes, at once vulnerable and strong. “Nothing will change if it gets to be too much,” he promised.

Castiel nodded, some of the tension seeping out of his shoulders. Carefully, he rose, leaving Dean to sit by himself on the bed. “I should go back to the couch. Get some sleep, let you sleep as well. We can talk about this more in the morning, if it seems like a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, smiling at his fellow Omega. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

God, he was so screwed.


	9. Family Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets with Sam at his office to discuss divorce proceedings. While there, he runs into his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel may be the fun-loving, hedonistic one of the angels, but you still don't want to make him angry. I might have a thing for righteously pissed off Gabriel. 
> 
> Several people have expressed concern about Samandriel. I am not going to give you guys spoilers, but let's just say he's not out of the story--take that as you will.
> 
> Have a completely Cas-centric chapter! Sorry for the lack of Destiel in this one.

Castiel had gone down to the firm by the courthouse with Sam once before, to fill out and sign his petition for divorce. Sam had phoned him mid-morning to inform him that Crowley had sent in his signed part of the petition, and so Castiel found himself sitting in Sam’s car, his lawyer having taken an early lunch break to pick him up. Sam chattered, filling the silence, for which Castiel was grateful. He would be lying if he said that he was not nervous about the proceedings to come.

The drive to the firm was mercifully short. Castiel followed Sam to his office, keeping his eyes firmly on the tiles beneath his feet. When tile changed to carpet, he knew they had reached the office, and dared to look up. Sam offered him a small smile and gestured towards a plush leather chair on the near side of his desk.

Castiel lowered himself into the seat, which creaked as he put his full weight against it. “So, Crowley actually agreed?” he asked, his voice much steadier than he thought it would be. He sounded a good deal more confident than he was, he thought dryly.

“Yes.” Sam reached for a stack of blank papers and pulled them across his desk, idly tapping a pen against dark wood with his other hand. “I mean, there’s not much he could do. If he didn’t sign the forms, the divorce would still proceed, the court would just have to recognize that only one partner signed the petition. It will go to trial either way,  but hopefully we can get through it fairly quickly.”

Castiel nodded. “So, what’s the next step?” he queried.

Sam offered him a reassuring smile. “Well, now you and I are going to draw up a game plan for the trial. We’re going to figure out what you can expect to get from him in terms of alimony and custody rights, and whether you’ll even need a separate custody trial. Hopefully, we can work that out during the general proceedings, and spare you having to go to court for multiple cases.”

That was reasonable. Castiel fiddled with the cuff of his trench coat. “Can I even expect to get anything from Crowley in terms of alimony?” he asked. “I wasn’t legally listed as co-owning any of his property, and I did not have stock in any of his businesses. Apart from the actual marriage license, we are not legally connected.”

“That actually just means that we won’t have to worry about division of property,” Sam reassured him. “Yeah, you won’t have a legal claim to be reimbursed for your part of the house, but since he was the main earner for your family, he’ll owe you money in spousal support. If you get main custody of your children, you’ll also have child support coming in.”

Castiel sighed, relieved. “All right,” he said. “That sounds good.”

Sam folded his hands together. “Now, this doesn’t leave the office, but I’m on pretty good terms with the guy in charge of setting up trials—scheduling the judges for their cases and whatnot. I pulled a few strings, and he’s agreed to meet with us off the record to chat, get a feel for your case. I can’t disclose details with him, but you’re legally allowed to talk about what we’ve worked out, and he can use that to make sure that you get a judge who will be favorable to your side of the case.”

Where would he be without Sam? Castiel took a deep breath, some of the tension in his chest easing. “I find this agreeable,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Will he be stopping in today?”

“He said he’d come around when he gets a break.” Sam shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know when that will be, but we can work on your case until he gets here. Since I’m going to have to take you home anyways, if we finish early, you can stay in my office. I don’t have any other client meetings today, and you can look through some of my books to pass the time.”

To Castiel, that was a perfectly agreeable setup. For the next several hours he worked with Sam, discussing alimony and court procedure and whether or not it would be advisable to file for a restraining order. The sheer complexity of law was overwhelming to Castiel, who had never before done any research into the court system. Luckily, Sam seemed used to working with clients who did not know civil court from criminal court, and was perfectly amenable to walking Castiel through the little details.

It was pushing five in the evening when Sam declared that they had worked out as much as it was feasible to do before the proceedings began. Privately, Castiel was relieved. His head had been spinning for hours.

“Gabriel should be by any time now,” Sam said, glancing up at the clock with a slight frown. “I guess he got busy. I expected him to pop in on us while we were still working.”

Right on cue, the door swung open. “Hi there, Sammy!” a loud, cheerful, and painfully familiar voice sang out. Castiel’s head whipped around before he even realized that he had moved. Gabriel—he had not even thought it a possibility when he heard the name—his brother stepped through the doorway, looking past Castiel to smirk at Sam. “You know how it goes—one minute you’re playing solitaire and the next you have five thousand emails and every single one of them…” His voice trailed off as his eyes wandered to Castiel, pale amber stopping dead on his face. _“Cassie?”_

Castiel swallowed, his mouth dry. “Gabriel,” he said finally, forcing his lips into what he hoped was an acceptable smile. It probably resembled more of a grimace.

“You two know each other?” Sam asked, drawing both men’s gazes across the desk to look at him. Castiel could imagine how he looked—eyes wide, face drained of color and masked with warring emotions. A glance at his brother informed him that the man fared little better.

“You could say that,” Castiel said finally. Gabriel, it seemed, was too dumbstruck for words—that was a first. At any other time, it would have been an entertaining triumph. “He’s my brother.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or if it complicates matters,” he said slowly. “Gabriel, they won’t see you running the scheduling as a conflict of interest, will they?”

Gabriel blinked several times before he answered. “Well, ever since my aunt disowned me and I’m legally out of the family, no, I don’t think it will be an issue,” he said, shaking himself hard.

“Naomi disowned you?” Castiel blurted out before he could stop himself. “She could do that?”

“Well, you know, Dad’s been gone for what, fifteen years? She had custody. Legally I was still a dependent, so…” Gabriel shrugged. “It was a blessing for all of us. Woman’s a royal bitch.”

“I see.” Of all his brothers, Castiel would have named Lucifer as the one most likely to be disowned, or perhaps himself. Whatever Gabriel had done to anger his aunt, it must have been extreme—even when Castiel had been caught with Balthazar, she had not gone so far as to legally write him out of the family.

“Okay, so. Divorce case.” Gabriel seemed desperate to get back onto the original track, and Castiel could fully understand that—they could play catch-up later, assuming his brother was even still speaking to him. He shook himself from his reverie. There would be time to contemplate family drama later. “Obviously, we want a judge who’s generally sympathetic to the initiating party. What else?”

Sam nodded at Castiel, who gulped. This would be so much easier with a stranger. “I’m not sure what you need to know,” he said, and he would never admit that he was stalling for time.

“Okay, well, why are you splitting up?” Gabriel asked.

“Incompatibility.” The term had been drilled into Castiel’s head repeatedly through the course of the day. It did not even begin to cover the reasons why he had left Crowley— _I’m not a punching bag, I’m not a sex toy, I can’t live with the humiliation and debasement, he_ took my son _from me—_ but Sam had assured him that listing a rap sheet of Crowley’s failings as a spouse would not serve to turn the tide any more in his favor, not in an official document. If the trial reached the point of actually calling witnesses, that would be another matter entirely.

Gabriel seemed to be of an entirely different mindset. “That’s great for the trial, but it doesn’t help me. Almost everyone who gets a divorce does it over incompatibility. I can narrow that down to basically every judge in the county.”

Castiel winced. He did not want to go into the details of his dysfunctional marriage with his brother. “We had a difference in values,” he said, as neutrally as he could. “Crowley is a very traditional person. I found his expectations for my behavior overbearing and unacceptable.”

Gabriel nodded. “That’s helpful. We want a fairly liberal judge then. Anything else?”

“Matters of custody,” Castiel said softly. “I need full custody of my children.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. “You’ve got kids?” he asked gently. “Okay. I can swing that. So, a judge who’s fairly liberal, but who also tends to preference Omegas as the primary caretakers of children. That’s actually not so uncommon. I can think of a few who would work there.”

Castiel offered a thin smile. Gabriel sighed, clasping his hands together. “That should be everything I can work with. Sam, mind if I steal Castiel for a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” Sam said, glancing over at Castiel. Cas took a deep breath and followed Gabriel out of Sam’s office, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

Gabriel was on Cas in an instant, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You’re alive,” he whispered, clinging to his younger brother like a lifeline. “Cas, the way Crowley talked when you came up in conversation, we all thought you were dead. What _happened,_ Cas? Why didn’t you ever call?”

Embarrassed, Castiel extricated himself from Gabriel’s tight grip. “It wasn’t a good relationship,” he said, his chin quivering. “He didn’t really let me leave the house. He’d have been furious if I called you guys, and I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Was he abusive?” Gabriel demanded, his eyes flashing with ill-concealed rage. “I’ll kill him if he was. No one fucks with my little brother and gets away with it.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “He was,” he admitted. It was strange to put his experience into so few words—abusive did not seem to cover what he had gone through with Crowley. “Gabe—no, Gabe, listen,” he pleaded as his brother cursed, pounding a fist angrily against his thigh. “I don’t want revenge. I’m not out to get even with him. I just want to get a divorce and get my son back, and preferably keep him from getting anywhere near my other child when they’re born.”

Gabriel shook his head, his eyes drawn to Castiel’s still flat stomach. “I didn’t even know I had a nephew,” he said darkly. Castiel had never seen his fun-loving, easygoing brother in such a rage. “Whenever Crowley came over to Naomi’s, for a while, we’d ask about you, ask why he didn’t bring you. He started saying things like it was impossible, and finally one day he said, what was it, that your condition was such that none of us would ever see you again. We all took that to mean that you were dead. He never mentioned a kid, either.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t imagine he would have,” he said quietly. “He was very upset when Samandriel was born. Something about how the first born child of any relationship should never be an Omega. He was angry for some time over that.”

“That’s bullshit!” Gabriel cursed again, his short, thin body tense and shaking. “That’s complete, total horseshit, Cassie.”

“Trust me, I know,” Castiel said, spreading his palms wide. “I know. Samandriel is—” he swallowed hard. “Samandriel is the best child anyone could ever hope for. He’s bright, he’s kind, he’s got the most incredible personality and love of life.” A sob rose, unbidden, in his chest. “I’ve got to get him back before Crowley wrings that from him.”

Gabriel’s face was anguished as he looked back at Castiel. “Why didn’t you take him with you when you left?” he asked.

“Crowley sent him away,” Castiel replied miserably. “Sent him off to a single sex boarding school. Said that I was a bad influence, that he was growing up too rebellious. I tried to stop him, and he locked me up until the school came for him.”

Gabriel growled low in his throat, and Castiel was suddenly aware of exactly how _Alpha_ his brother was. Ordinarily, Gabriel defied sex-based stereotypes of temper and temperament, but it seemed that this had hit him hard enough to bring them out. Castiel shivered; suddenly, he did not want to cross his brother.

“I’ll kill him,” Gabriel snarled, clenching his fists. “Sorry, Cassie, but I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“Let the trial do it for you,” Castiel said shakily. “Crowley’s proud, you know that, Gabe. The humiliation of being left by his spouse and losing custody of his kids will hurt him a lot worse than anything you could do to him.” _Crowley has to lose custody. He has to._

Gabriel scowled. “I guess you know him better than I do,” he admitted grudgingly. “Okay. But if he’s not crawling on his knees in defeat by the end of the trial, you have to let me work him over.”

“Deal,” Castiel promised.

Gabriel nodded. “Where are you staying?” he asked, twining his fingers about themselves. “I can put you up in my house if you’re living out of hotels or something.”

“I’m actually staying with Sam’s brother,” Castiel assured him. “Dean’s a good person. I don’t know if I’d have let me in, but I showed up at his house in the middle of the night and he’s been letting me stay there ever since.”

Gabriel grinned mischievously. “I’ve met the guy,” he said cheerfully. “He’s fun to screw with. I guess I can approve of you living with him.” He reached out and awkwardly patted Castiel on the shoulder. “Can I tell everyone else you’re alive?”

Castiel shrugged. “Our siblings, yes,” he replied. “I wouldn’t mind letting Naomi squirm a little bit longer. Assuming she cared in the first place.”

Gabriel snorted. “I think you actually made the heartless ice queen feel guilty. She won’t admit it, but she also refuses to talk about you. At least, last time I saw her she was still on that, which was years ago.”

Castiel could live with that much. “You can tell the rest of our siblings that I am alive and well, though. I owe them that much.”

Castiel met Gabriel’s reassuring smile with a tiny grin of his own. He had connected with old friends, and now it seemed he was going to be able to reconnect with his family. Maybe it would not be so difficult to get his life back after all.


	10. Take Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel take a trip to The Joint, the bar Cas went to when he was younger. They run into one of Castiel's old friends. Unfortunately, the man she is with is unpleasant, and knows a bit more about Dean than he would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot. This is plot.
> 
> Warning: This chapter details the beginnings of Dean's relationship with Alastair. It's not in great detail, but you should have the head's up. This chapter is not entirely pleasant. And next chapter... I shall warn you now, next chapter is going to be quite unhappy.

 

The days seemed to meld together, and the weeks flew by more quickly than Dean could have ever imagined. It was a subtle change, but having Castiel in his life seemed to brighten his world in ways that he would have never imagined. There was something strangely comfortable about coming home from work to someone waiting for him, and Dean wondered how he could have gone through life willing to pass this up.

 

Castiel had been living with him for nearly a month when he first broached the idea of taking Dean out to The Joint, to a place where they could spend time together outside of Dean’s house, and still be open about their slowly blossoming relationship. Dean leapt at the chance. The idea of coming clean about their relationship largely terrified him, but at the same time, he wanted to show the world that Cas was his, and that he was Castiel’s. There was no better place to do this than a bar geared explicitly towards people like them.

 

Dean had never seen Castiel so at ease outside the house as he was in line for the club. A burly Alpha checked their IDs and waved them in, completely unperturbed by the sight of two Omegas holding hands. Dean glanced over at Castiel, smiling nervously, but Castiel seemed entirely at ease with the situation. Dean could certainly get used to Castiel’s relaxed posture and easy smile, so different from the tense demeanor he had possessed only a few weeks ago.

 

It was not quite nine, and the bar had yet to fill up with the evening crowd. Dance music played at a moderate level; a few individuals had commandeered the dance floor, but most of the bar’s patrons sat in booths or at the bar itself, socializing and laughing amongst themselves. Dean allowed Castiel to lead him to the bar, hopping up onto a tall stool. “Want a drink?” he asked, leaning forward to place a quick kiss to the man’s cheek. A thrill shuddered through his body; it was delightful to know that he did not have to hide here.

 

Castiel smirked. “By all means, yes. I used to have quite the alcohol tolerance,” he replied cheerfully, shrugging out of his trench coat and spreading the garment over the back of his seat.

 

Dean ordered two Long Islands from the friendly Omega behind the bar, passing his and Cas’s IDs forward, though neither of them looked young enough to be underage. They sat in silence for a few minutes, content to observe their fellow patrons in peace.

 

“Clarence?” A round-faced Alpha, her brown curls hanging loose and free over her leather-clad shoulders, slid across several seats, sharp eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. “Is that you?”

 

Castiel’s head whipped around. “Meg!” he cried, his eyes lighting up. He beamed as he rose, wrapping the much shorter woman into a hug.

 

“Clarence?” Dean asked, incredulous. It seemed that Castiel knew this woman, who gave him a tight squeeze before releasing him.

 

“It’s a nickname,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Meg Masters. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

 

“Dean Winchester.” He shook her hand, taking note of her firm, steady grip. “You’re friends with Cas?”

 

Cas grinned, settling back into his seat and gesturing at Meg to join them. “I told you about Meg,” he reminded Dean. “She and Charlie dated while I was in high school. She and I had a relationship front so that our families wouldn’t find out who our partners actually were.”

 

That explained why the name sounded so familiar. “Good to meet you,” Dean said easily, raising his drink in acknowledgement.

 

“Same,” Meg replied, grinning from over what appeared to be a rum and coke. “Nice to see someone’s dragging Clarence back into the scene. Or did he rope you into this?”

 

“I told Dean about the bar,” Castiel said, sliding a warm hand onto Dean’s knee. “He’s brand new to the scene. We hadn’t gone out in public yet.”

 

“Well, props to you.” Meg smirked, taking a long sip of her drink. “Bit old to be coming here for your first time, or were we just young?”

 

Castiel laughed, squeezing Dean’s knee gently, sending a warm fissure of contented pleasure through his body. “Both, I think,” he replied, turning his face to gift Dean with a smile.

 

“So, how’d you meet, then?” Meg asked, swirling her drink around in her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been lucky enough to meet someone who doesn’t come here, and let me tell you, pickings are getting slim by now. Almost everyone I know here’s been coming here for years. Probably banged half the Alphas in the bar, and man, I could use some new blood.”

 

Dean snorted in tandem with Cas. “It’s a long story,” Cas said, his mouth twitching wryly. “Let’s just say I’m staying with Dean for the moment.”

 

“Fair enough.” Meg grinned, waving over a tall man who was obviously wearing color contacts. “Guys, this is Azazel. Probably the only Alpha in the state who knows how to use his damn dick. Azazel, Dean Winchester and Castiel.”

 

Azazel’s pale yellow eyes slid over Castiel to rest on Dean. “Not Sam Winchester’s brother?” he asked, an unpleasant grin oozing across his face. Dean decided he didn’t like the newcomer. There was something unnerving about his eyes that had nothing to do with color contacts—the man was trouble.

 

Dean nodded curtly. That creepy, borderline predatory smile did not leave Azazel’s lips. “I had your brother in one of my tutoring sessions, shortly before he passed the bar. Remarkable child. I think I’d have to count him as one of my favorite students.” His cold eyes raked over Dean’s body, sending unpleasant goosebumps across his skin. “Now that I think of it, I seem to remember your own case. Absolutely tragic. It’s good to see that you haven’t been scarred away from the bar scene entirely.”

 

Yep, this man was a creep and Dean _really_ did not like him. His ears flamed; he was acutely aware of Cas beside him, looking from Dean to Azazel and back again. “You know what they say. Time heals all wounds,” he said coldly. He liked Meg, but he found himself wishing she would leave. Perhaps then Azazel would follow.

 

His wish turned out to be unnecessary. Azazel excused himself, leaving Meg and Castiel to catch up. Dean joined in on the conversation when he could, which proved to be quite often. Meg, it seemed, had a snarky sense of humor that made it easy to slip in his own input, provided he did not mind ending up as fodder for her razing comments. By the end of the evening, Meg was laughing, Castiel was in stitches, and Dean was pretty sure that he could count Meg as a friend.

 

Neither Dean nor Cas had been drinking to get drunk, and Dean felt only the barest edges of alcoholic influence in his mind. He should be good to drive. Apparently, Cas felt differently; perhaps it had something to do with Dean tripping over his own feet on the way out the door. Reluctantly, Dean handed the car keys over to his partner—“If you scratch her I’m taking it out of your hide”—and crawled into the front seat of the Impala.

 

Castiel drove slowly, stiffly, with the air of someone who had not been behind the wheel in quite some time. It made Dean nervous, but they got home unscathed, much to his relief. They spilled, still talking and laughing, from the car and stumbled into the house, Dean’s arm wrapped around Castiel’s waist for balance.

 

Perhaps he had had more to drink than anticipated. Dean tumbled onto the couch, pulling Castiel on top of him. He placed a sloppy kiss to the man’s lips, his mouth falling slack against the other man’s. “We need to do that again,” he mumbled, grinning. “Was fun. Meg’s fun. You’re really fun.”

 

Castiel laughed, untangling his long limbs from Dean’s and sitting up. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he said, shifting Dean’s head onto his lap. He ran long, slim fingers through Dean’s short hair, caressing his scalp. Dean sighed, content, and leaned into the touch. “Do you work tomorrow?”

 

Dean shook his head, nuzzling Castiel’s thighs. Castiel’s breath hitched; he placed a steadying hand on the back of Dean’s neck. “Later, Dean. When you’re sober.”

 

“M’okay,” Dean slurred, smiling. “How come you’re not drunk?”

 

“I told you, I have amazing alcohol tolerance.” Castiel slid his hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, rubbing gentle circles across his back. “I also had at least three fewer drinks than you did.”

 

“Wasn’t keeping count.” Dean caught Castiel’s other hand, hanging loosely off the couch, and wrapped their fingers together. “You smiled a lot. You’re really pretty when you smile.”

 

Castiel chuckled. “You’re not half bad yourself,” he said, leaning down and placing a firm kiss to the back of Dean’s head. Dean wriggled back into the contact, allowing his eyes to drift shut. This was good. Cas was good. He could stay here forever, wrapped up in the other man, breathing in his sweet scent and nestling his head between his thighs.

 

At some point, Castiel managed to coax Dean to his feet and into the bedroom. Dean sprawled, fully clothed, across the bed, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s chest. “Stay with me?” he asked, his eyes heavy with oncoming sleep.

 

“Of course.” Castiel wiggled beneath the covers, sliding against Dean and burrowing his head in the crook of the man’s neck. Dean released a contented sigh and closed his eyes, allowing the soft, steady pattern of Castiel’s breath on his skin to lull him to sleep.

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

Dean woke the next morning with the barest edges of a headache throbbing at his temples. Not too bad, considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed the previous night. He sat up, careful to not disturb Castiel, sleeping peacefully on the other side of the bed. A fond smile passed over his lips as he regarded the other Omega. He could get used to the sight of the other man in his bed, his dark hair sticking to the pillow, curling up in gentle spikes around his face.

 

With some reluctance, Dean rose and slipped from the room to make coffee. The stove clock informed him that it was almost ten—it was a good thing it was his day off. He set the coffee maker running and quietly made his way to the bathroom to shower and shave.

 

Castiel was awake when he returned to the bedroom to dress, bright blue eyes mere slits in the man’s face as he watched Dean sleepily. Dean smiled, dressing quickly and walking to the bed to place a gentle kiss on the man’s lips. “Hey, you,” he greeted him, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking that soft, shiny dark hair. “Sleep well?”

 

“You snore,” Castiel answered, closing his eyes and arching, catlike, into Dean’s touch. “It was very distracting.”

 

Dean clucked, amused. “Well, excuse me for interrupting your beauty sleep, princess.”

 

“You call that an apology?” Castiel pushed himself heavily off the bed, groaning as stiff joints crackled. “Fine. Apology accepted.”

 

“Oh, good. I wasn’t looking forward to running out to the florist’s so early in the morning.” Castiel wrinkled his nose and gave Dean a good-natured shove. Dean laughed, returning the shove in kind. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Coffee should be done, if you want some.”

 

Castiel grumbled, following Dean into the kitchen and accepting a mug of the warm, gloriously bitter drink. “Needs more food,” he muttered, scowling into the cup.

 

Dean shrugged and grabbed a half-full box of cereal from the cupboard. “You know where the bowls are,” he teased, pouring himself a large serving. “I’m the one with the hangover. Shouldn’t you be taking care of me?”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “It’s your fault for drinking so much,” he replied, downing half of his coffee in one gulp. “Learn your limits.”

 

Dean snorted. Breakfast was a largely silent affair, as Castiel slowly dragged himself to full wakefulness and Dean waited for his headache to recede. Clearing the dishes was a simple enough affair, and they made their way to the living room, Castiel snagging a book from Dean’s collection as Dean palmed the remote, determined to channel surf until he found something halfway decent.

 

The silence was comfortable, but as time wore on, Dean noticed Castiel flicking glances his way over the pages of the book. Finally, Dean muted the television. “You look like you’ve got something to say,” he said, setting the remote down on the coffee table.

 

Castiel hesitated. “I’m not sure if it’s my place to ask,” he murmured quietly.

 

Dean frowned. “Ask anyway,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

 

Carefully, Castiel folded over the corner of his page and placed the book in his lap. “Meg’s friend said something last night that I’m having trouble getting out of my mind,” he said reluctantly, averting his eyes. “Something about you having had a court case. It’s none of my business. I was just wondering what that was about.”

 

_Shit._ Dean had forgotten all about Azazel. He swallowed hard. “It’s pretty unpleasant,” he said slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. “Not really something I like to talk about.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Castiel hastened to assure him.

 

It was nice of Castiel to leave him an out, but Cas had also been brave enough to tell him what had happened with Crowley. Dean supposed he owed his partner this much. “It’s okay,” he said roughly, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. “You’ve got the right to know.”

 

Castiel nodded. Dean swallowed hard, gathering up his nerves. “You know I’m not interested in Alphas and Betas. That bothered me a lot when I was younger. Kind of made me feel like something was wrong with me. I figured that maybe if I tried starting a relationship with someone, I’d see what all the fuss was about. Sort of jump start an interest in them, you know?”

 

Castiel did not say anything, only looked at Dean attentively. Dean shook his head. “Anyways, I went to a lot of bars when I first turned twenty-one. For a while, I just turned down everyone who hit on me, but I got this idea in my head that maybe I should start something with someone else. Anyone else. I didn’t have to be picky since I wasn’t interested anyways, right?” He shuddered. “So one day, this guy, Alastair, offered to buy me a drink, and I said yes.

 

“I didn’t want to be the guy who put out on the first night, especially since I wasn’t really interested in him, so I didn’t go home with him. We did exchange numbers, though. He called, asked me out on a date, and I said yes. So, we dated for a while, but it never felt right. I just wasn’t interested.” Dean shrugged. “Eventually, I accepted that it wasn’t working. I still wasn’t interested in Alphas or Betas. Continuing things seemed like leading him on. So I called him, told him I didn’t think we were going to work out. He was pretty pissed, but I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t expect to see him again. I just let my life go back to normal, and figured he’d do the same. Find someone who was actually interested in him, you know?”

 

Castiel nodded. Dean sighed. “Anyways, I didn’t think I had a reason to specifically avoid him, so I didn’t. Just kept living the way I always had, and that included going out drinking after work. Usually I went with a few buddies, but not always. I went out one day after work by myself, and ran into him at the bar. He asked if he could buy me a drink for old time’s sake, and I thought hey, what the hell?” Dean shivered. “Of course, it all went to shit after that.”


	11. Trauma and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean recalls the incident with Alastair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it was very, very mean of me to leave you guys with that nasty cliffhanger last night. To make up for it, I'm giving you a VERY long chapter. (Okay, I also didn't want to divide Dean's flashback into multiple parts, so you get it all at once. Just take it as a gift.)
> 
> Thanks to my readers who pointed out that Castiel really shouldn't have been drinking alcohol last chapter. That was a slip-up on my part. Don't drink alcohol while pregnant. Cas, stop being a bad role model (damnit I'm shifting the blame here and no one can stop me.)
> 
> The majority of this chapter is told in flashback form. This lets me go into greater detail than it would otherwise. Of course, that also means I got to make it 5,000 times less pleasant than if I wrote it from Dean explaining what happened to Castiel--he wouldn't go into all the gory details with that.
> 
> Warnings: Basically all of them. Kidnapping, drugging, graphic rape, captivity, forced pregnancy, miscarriage, brief discussion of (VERY INADVISABLE) home abortions of a less-than-medical nature. If you find any of those triggering, I'd recommend skipping the majority of this chapter. Feel free to ask for a synopsis if you're uncomfortable reading the full chapter.

_Alastair took the drink from the bartender and turned from Dean to take a sip. “Delicious,” he said, swiveling the chair around and passing it to Dean with a thin smile. “You’ll like this one, Deano. Just the right mix of alcohol and, mm, everything else.”_

_Dean smiled politely, taking a sip. “It’s a nice change of pace,” he said coolly. He’d been just fine with the beer he had ordered, but he wasn’t going to pass up a free drink either. Alastair genuinely seemed to have no hard feelings towards him; he wasn’t sure that he was particularly comfortable spending time with his ex, but there was no harm in catching up in public, he supposed._

_“Good.” Alastair hummed, barely audible over the rumble of the bar and the thud of dance music in the background. “Life’s been treating you well, Deano? What was it—focusing on career and family, hm?”_

_Dean nodded curtly, tossing back the rest of the drink. “Yep,” he answered, setting down the empty glass. Alastair waved, catching the bartender’s attention, and pointed at Dean’s empty glass. “You don’t need to do that,” Dean protested, catching the bartender’s eye and shaking his head. He didn’t want Alastair to get the wrong idea._

_“I’m not allowed to treat an old flame?” Alastair slid a wad of cash across the bar with a cool shrug. “Or would you rather have something else? I meant what I said, my boy. Drinks are on me.”_

_“Just don’t get the wrong idea,” Dean said, frowning. “You’re all right, Alastair, but I’m not interested in starting anything up again.”_

_“No, I don’t think you are.” Alastair bared yellowed teeth, his pale eyes shining intently. “Mm, I don’t expect that you want anything with me. And that’s all right—really. I can live with that.”_

_Dean shrugged. “Okay, then,” he said, allowing the bartender to replace his glass with another full drink._

_Dean was halfway through his fourth beverage when the room lurched suddenly. He gasped, his vision swimming, and leaned against the bar for support. Instantly, Alastair was there, gripping his arms with tight, bruising fingers. “Careful now, Deano,” he chided, helping Dean sit up. “Don’t want you falling and hitting your head, hm?”_

_Dean shook his head blearily. “Think I need to call a cab,” he said, sliding off the stool and steadying himself against the bar. “Guess those drinks were stronger than I thought.”_

_“I’ll walk you out,” Alastair offered, tightening his grip ever so slightly._

_“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” Dean said, pulling out of the other man’s grasp. He took a step and stumbled, dropping to his knees on the floor._

_“Put the drinks on my tab,” Alastair called over his shoulder. He crouched, pulling Dean to his feet and sliding an arm around his waist. “You’re not in a state to walk, now, are you?” Alastair asked, half-dragging Dean to the door. “Pretty little Omega like you, someone’d be on you before you even made it outside. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.”_

_The world seemed to be moving through a screen. Dimly, Dean mumbled something that he was fairly sure was supposed to be a protest. Alastair ignored him, pulling Dean towards his dark green truck. “Don’t you fret, my boy. I’ll take you home.”_

_“’M fine,” Dean slurred, fumbling his cell phone from his pocket. “Lemme call Sam.”_

_Alastair plucked the phone from Dean’s twitching fingers and hefted him into the passenger’s seat. “No, Deano, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he murmured, his breath hot against Dean’s skin as he strapped him into the seat. “You just sleep, there’s a boy. You can call your brother when you wake up.”_

_Dean protested, or at least, he thought the babble that slid from between his lips was meant to be a protest. Alastair ignored him, shutting the passenger door and walking around the truck to slide into the driver’s seat. The engine started, and light forties music began to play softly, permeating the otherwise quiet air. Dean shuddered and gave up, allowing himself to slip into unconsciousness._

_0o0o0o0o0_

_He felt like crap. Dean’s head throbbed, pounding with every motion; he was all too aware of the agonizing stretch of his limbs. He grimaced and tried to roll over, but something stopped him. He frowned, and tried again. Something hard and metallic clicked above him, jangling every time he tried to move. Weird. He wasn’t sure what that could be._

_Light, spidery touches trailed down his side, and he jumped, his eyes flying open with surprise. “Ah, he wakes.” Alastair leered down at him, tapping bony fingers against his flesh. “I was starting to think I might have dosed you too heavily.”_

_Dosed? Dean groaned, shifting slightly. “Where ‘m I?” he asked blearily, struggling to sit up. He couldn’t even move his hands._

_“Don’t you worry about that, Deano.” Alastair smirked, trailing a finger across Dean’s chest. Dean stiffened, fighting to pull his senses together. Something was wrong—something was very wrong. Why was Alastair here?_

_That clanking was starting to grate on his nerves. Dean craned his neck, searching for the source of the noise. His hands were cuffed together above his head, secured to a dark mahogany headboard with a short length of chain. Suddenly cold, Dean looked down the length of his body. His feet were shackled to posts at the end of a large, queen sized bed. “Alastair,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. He wished his head would clear! “Why—why am I chained to a bed?”_

_Alastair chortled, trailing thin fingers down Dean’s denim-clad thigh. “Still a bit fuzzy, I presume,” he laughed, bending down and pressing a kiss to Dean’s hip. Dean shuddered at the sensation. “Rohypnol tends to have that effect.”_

_“You roofied me.” That should bother him more than it did. He was just so tired. “Let me up.”_

_“Hm, how about no.” Alastair traced patterns over Dean’s skin with bony fingers; Dean’s flesh crawled in their wake. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to leave for, mm, a few hours, give you some time to wake up. When I come back, you’re going to call that pretty little brother of yours. Tell him you made a mistake in leaving me, and that you spent last night begging me to take you back. When I finally agreed to give you another chance, you realized just how much of your decision to leave hinged on your downright unhealthy obsession with family. You’re done with that co-dependence. You will tell him not to contact you or look for you. Any attempt to convince you to get back in contact with your family will end in you calling the police.”_

_Dean shook his head, struggling to follow Alastair’s words. He was pretty sure he’d gotten the gist of the man’s meaning. “You’re crazy,” he grunted, tugging fruitlessly against his bonds. “I’m not gonna tell him that.”_

_“Oh, but my boy,” Alastair chuckled. A glint of metal caught Dean’s eye; he stilled, staring at the revolver in Alastair’s hand. “I’m the one with the gun.”_

_0o0o0o0o0_

_Alastair was true to his word. When he returned, several hours later, it was with Dean’s cell phone, which he placed on speaker by Dean’s ear, the gun pressed casually to Dean’s opposite temple. Shakily, Dean went through the motions of telling Sam to not look for him. Alastair ended the call in the middle of Sam’s protests and threw the phone to the ground, stomping on the device until it was little more than crushed scrap on the floor. “Why are you doing this?” Dean demanded furiously, wrenching at the cuffs. They refused to give even the slightest bit._

_“You shouldn’t have left me, boy,” Alastair hissed, rubbing his thumb across Dean’s collarbone. “Shouldn’t have thought you could get away with it. No one takes what’s mine from me—not even you.”_

_“I’m not yours,” Dean snapped, leaning away from the touch. It was impossible to escape Alastair’s hands, but he would be damned if he’d just lie back and submit to it. “I never was! We dated for three weeks, you obsessive bastard!”_

_“Yes, yes we did.” Alastair caught Dean’s chin in an iron grip, forcing him to meet his eyes. “And now, instead of keeping your freedom, you get to stay in this room until I’m done with you.”_

_Dean snarled, kicking his feet the scant inches that the chains would allow, jerking against Alastair’s hold. The man’s hand moved with him, grimy nails digging into Dean’s jaw. “You can’t keep me here,” Dean growled, twisting in Alastair’s grip. “Sam’s not an idiot. He’s not going to listen to that damn phone call. He’ll call the cops, and they’ll find me.”_

_Alastair laughed. “No, no, I don’t think they will,” he said, his free hand wandering under Dean’s shirt. Dean yelped, outraged, as bony fingers circled his nipple and pinched hard. “No warrant. After all, you did say you don’t want to be found.”_

_“You son of a bitch,” Dean hissed, glaring at the man._

_“Mm, sticks and stones, Deano.” Alastair released his chin and dropped his hand to the edge of Dean’s shirt, tugging it up over his torso to cover his face._

_Dean thrashed as his vision was obscured. “Damnit, Alastair! Let me go!” he shouted, bucking as cruel hands groped at his skin. “You’ve had your fun, now stop it!”_

_“Had my fun?” Alastair laughed, a hair-raising cackle that sent goose bumps crawling across Dean’s skin. “Oh, Deano, this is why I like you. You’ve got the best sense of humor. I, hm, really admire that—I do.”_

_Dean raged as Alastair explored his body with cold, possessive hands. The man ignored him, grazing his nails across Dean’s skin, chuckling as Dean flinched and struggled beneath him. “You and I, we’re going to have some fun times,” the man hissed, his breath hot and rank even through the shirt over Dean’s face._

_“What do you want?” Dean demanded desperately. “Look—Alastair, please.” God, he was begging. How fantastic. “Alastair, just tell me what you want. I’ll do it, okay? Just let me go, and I swear, I’ll do what you want!” Yeah, no way Alastair would see through that lie. Smooth, Dean. Downright silvertongued, there._

_“I think I’ve got what I want,” Alastair hissed, nipping hard at Dean’s neck. “I want you, pliant and submissive in my bed. I want you to scream and writhe in pleasure and agony at my hands. I want you heavy with my kids, so you can’t leave even if I let you go. I want to watch you break, until you don’t know anything other than a life as my bitch.”_

_Dean screamed his rage, thrashing furiously as Alastair’s hands slid down his torso to unzip his jeans. “Get off me!” he roared, bucking frantically in a desperate attempt to jerk free of the man’s grasp._

_Alastair drove his elbow into Dean’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. He shuddered, panting, as the man slid his jeans and underwear down his legs, allowing them to bunch around his knees. “There she is,” Alastair crooned mockingly, running a finger down Dean’s flaccid length. “The way you’ve been holding out on me, I was starting to wonder if you had one at all!”_

_Dean jerked, energy draining inexorably from his limbs as the shock of the situation, combined with his previous struggles, began to take its toll on him. “Don’t,” he pleaded, shivering as Alastair gripped him with cold, unrelenting fingers. “Don’t do this. Please, just don’t.”_

_“But you’ve kept me waiting for so long, Dean.” Alastair grazed a fingernail across the head of Dean’s cock; Dean shuddered, struggling to pull away from the unwelcome sensation. “Maybe I haven’t been clear,” he continued, sliding a hand between Dean and the mattress, palming his ass with greedy fingers. “You don’t get to say no.”_

_A single long, skinny finger pushed its way into Dean’s body. Dean yelped, twisting frantically, panting hard as his body protested the foreign sensation. “Not wet, Deano?” Alastair whispered calmly. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix that.”_

_Alastair worked his finger into Dean’s passage as his other hand slid across Dean’s length. Unbidden, he felt himself beginning to harden under the man’s ministrations. “Stop,” he begged, twisting as his body reacted, precum beading at the tip of his slowly burgeoning erection, slick oozing its way down his inner walls. “Alastair, please. Please stop.”_

_“So polite,” Alastair mused, edging a second finger into Dean alongside the first. “Good boy. Keep it up.”_

_Dean hissed, wrenching at the cuffs with his last vestiges of energy. It was useless; he wasn’t going anywhere. Despondent, he closed his eyes and willed himself to think of something—anything—other than what was happening._

_The bed creaked as Alastair crawled over him, positioning himself in-between Dean’s legs. “We’ve got to get rid of these,” the man mused, tapping the waistband of Dean’s pants, just under his kneecap. “Very constrictive, denim. Doesn’t stretch nearly far enough.”_

_Dean shivered at the cool touch of metal against his skin. From some pocket, it seemed, Alastair had produced a knife. He gritted his teeth as the man sawed at fabric, shredding Dean’s jeans and underwear and tossing them off of the bed. He had no idea where they had landed—not that they would do him much good in pieces._

_With his lower body completely bare, there was nothing to shield him from Alastair’s greedy touches. The man worked a third finger into Dean, and then a fourth, massaging his sac firmly with his free hand. It felt awful; Dean could not understand why his body was aroused by the man’s disgusting touches._

_“That should be enough.” Alastair slid his fingers from Dean’s passage, wiping slick onto his thigh. Dean clenched his jaw as Alastair unzipped his pants, the gentle click of metal unnervingly ominous in his ears. Dean shuddered as Alastair released his erection and grasped Dean’s hips with bruising hands, lifting him the few inches that the chains would allow. “Hmm, not enough room. Don’t go anywhere, boy.”_

_The cuffs around Dean’s left ankle clicked open. Snarling, he kicked out, connecting with empty air. Alastair seized the underside of his knee and held him still as he unfastened the other ankle cuff. Dean thrashed furiously as the man drew his knees up to his chest, bending him in half, cool air breezing over his exposed privates. “Be still, Deano. This doesn’t have to hurt.”_

_Dean screamed as Alastair shoved into him, flesh giving as the man pushed balls deep into Dean’s body. Alastair groaned, squeezing Dean’s thighs with punishing fingers. Dean barely had a moment to adjust to the intrusion before the man was moving, short, hard thrusts jolting his body, sending him sliding across the covers with every motion._

_Dean was appalled to feel a tear leak out from the corner of his eye. Damnit, he was stronger than this! He shuddered, struggling to kick the man above him. Alastair leaned forward, pinning Dean’s calves to his thighs in an agonizing stretch, his legs trapped flush against his chest. Every motion was agony; above him, Alastair groaned, rutting desperately into him, whispering insults and praises one after the other._

_It seemed an age before the swell of Alastair’s knot made its presence known, steadily growing, seeming to split Dean in half as the swollen flesh breached his rim. Dean shrieked, his skin tearing from the strain; Alastair moaned wantonly as he released, spurting streams of hot, sticky cum into Dean’s body. The man collapsed, panting, locked inside Dean. “Oh, my boy,” he murmured, sliding his hands from between Dean’s thighs and calves to rest against his sides. “Just like I imagined. So hot and tight and_ mine _.”_

_A sob tore its way from Dean’s throat. “You’re sick,” he groaned, twitching feebly. “Something’s wrong with you.”_

_Alastair laughed, nuzzling Dean’s neck, the prickly barbs of his beard scratching across tender skin. “Keep talking dirty to me, Deano,” he crooned, nipping hard at Dean’s collarbone. “We’ve got all the time in the world._

_0o0o0o0o0_

_Seven months had passed since his last heat, and Dean had long since lost track of how long he had been here prior to that point. Three, four months? Something like that? He lay on his side, his belly much too swollen to allow him to roll over fully. His tender breasts ached with the slightest pressure, something that seemed to delight Alastair to a disgustingly sadistic degree. The man had not bound him in ages. What was the point? There was no escaping the room. Dean had long since accepted his fate. He was trapped._

_Dim moonlight cast an eerie glow across dark furniture, illuminating the new additions to the room. A crib and changing table sat, empty, in the corner, awaiting the arrival of Alastair’s child. Dean shuddered at the thought, grimacing as the growing being inside him kicked relentlessly. He wished for something sharp, something with an edge, anything he could use to carve that wretched child out of his body. Every day that he lay there, filled with the product of Alastair’s rapes, was a reminder of his wretched situation._

_Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. Dean groaned, resting his head against the pillows. It seemed that Alastair had returned, whether from work or the bar, it was impossible to say. Dean could not bring himself to care as the thud of footsteps grew in volume, each step carrying his captor closer to the room. There was no escaping the impending assault; he may as well let the man get it over with._

_The lock clicked and the door swung open. Alastair moved into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him with a heavy click. “Hungry, my boy?” his captor asked gleefully, sitting on the bed and seizing Dean’s jaw with hard fingers. Dean allowed Alastair to manhandle his mouth open enough to slide in a straw. Resigned, he sucked, hardly tasting the cold protein shake as it slid heavily down his throat. “You’re getting big, aren’t you?” Alastair crooned, rubbing Dean’s distended belly with cruel fingers. “Just a month or two, and we’ll be able to start trying for a second.”_

_Dean did not respond. Alastair slipped his hand up to greedily squeeze Dean’s breast. Dean yelped as sharp pain throbbed through his upper body, shrinking away from the touch. Alastair laughed cruelly, twisting Dean’s overly sensitive nipple between bony fingers. “Does that hurt?” he asked, cold eyes glinting as he stared into Dean’s face. “I hope it hurts. I hope you can feel it even when I take my hand away.”_

_Dean whimpered, refusing to lower himself to responding with words. Alastair sighed, ducking his head to grip Dean’s other nipple between his teeth. Dean whined, closing his eyes and trying to detach himself from the situation. He needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, even if it was only in his head._

_Alastair was never gentle, but Dean’s pregnant belly prevented the man from possessing him too harshly. The fight had long since left Dean’s body; he laid back on the bed and took it, barely aware of the assault. They all blended together after a while; this could be any other day from the past several months._

_Alastair finished and left him, worn out and listless on the bed. Dimly, he heard the floor creaking somewhere in the house, but the noise was meaningless. He was alone, and that was good. It meant that he could drift aimlessly, creating havens in his mind where he could reside without interruption._

_The loud whine of door hinges drew him from his reverie. Dean sat, awkwardly shifting to compensate for his swollen belly. The door to the room sat open, just the barest inch of space between the edge of the door and the wall. Dean blinked, rubbing his eyes—he had to be seeing things._

_He wasn’t. Alastair had forgotten to lock him in._

_Suddenly, the helplessness that had pervaded his psyche for the past several months seemed to melt away. Dean rose, waddling to the door, and pulled it open cautiously. He glanced down the hallway; it was empty. Carefully, treading softly to keep from drawing Alastair’s attention, he slid into the hall and made for the stairs._

_He nearly made it before footsteps sounded behind him. Dean froze, his heart hammering in his chest._

_“Now, how did you get out?” Alastair’s hand gripped the back of his neck, and Dean knew he had to move. With a roar, he spun around, clawing desperately at the other man’s eyes. Alastair seized his wrists and dragged him forward; Dean lashed out with his leg, sweeping the man’s knees out from under him. Alastair went down, dragging Dean with him._

_Dean kicked himself free of Alastair’s grasping hands and stumbled to his feet. His vision swayed—it had been months since he had so much as walked more than the length of his room, much less engaged in a physical altercation—but there would be time for exhaustion later. He allowed adrenaline to propel him, sprinting towards the stairs._

_Alastair lunged forward, his hands wrapping around Dean’s biceps. Dean stumbled, his foot catching on the edge of the stairs, and he went down, tumbling head over heels down the staircase. He landed on his side with a loud crunch; his ribs groaned, snapping with the impact. Dean screamed, curling in on himself, pain lancing through his body. “Stay back!” he shrieked as Alastair stormed down the stairs, his face a dark mask of fury. “Don’t touch me!”_

_He had to move. Ignoring the pain that screamed through his torso, Dean hauled himself to his feet. He had never seen the downstairs of Alastair’s house, but he could make out the front door just a room away. He staggered, flinging himself out the door, stumbling into the street._

_It didn’t matter that he was naked, that he was covered in bruises, that the crushing pain in his ribs was inhibiting his breath. Dean stumbled across the street, slamming into the front door of the house directly across from Alastair’s. “Help!” he screamed, pounding his fists against the wood. “Help me! Help!”_

_The door swung open, and Dean collapsed, halfway over the threshold. “Oh my god!” a woman’s voice shrieked, distant in Dean’s ears. “Don, call an ambulance!”_

_The next several hours passed in a blur. Dimly, Dean was aware of an ambulance screaming down the street, of paramedics loading him into the back, of a short, fast drive to the hospital. In a haze, he watched doctors take his pulse and wrap his ribs, accepted without fully understanding the news that the impact of his fall down the stairs had resulted in a miscarriage. He allowed the doctors to test his reflexes and check him for a concussion; one of them suggested running a rape kit, to which he blearily agreed. He already knew what the results would be._

_Sam showed up at the hospital a few hours later, his features far more haunted than any eighteen-year-old’s should be. John and Mary were close behind him; Dean had never seen his father cry before. Mary and Sam both seemed consumed with cold fury; distantly, Dean wondered why. Didn’t they remember him telling them he never wanted to see them again, or something? Shouldn’t they still be angry?_

_Sam laid a gentle hand over Dean’s, drawing him out of his thoughts. Listlessly, Dean turned to face his brother; anguished hazel eyes swam with tears before him. “Sorry,” Dean whispered, his tongue heavy with the effects of painkillers. “So sorry, Sammy.”_

_“Don’t apologize,” Sam whispered roughly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you ever apologize for this.”_

_“Made me call you,” Dean murmured, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling. “Didn’t want to. Wanted to go home. Wouldn’t let me.”_

_“It’s okay,” Sam said, his low voice soothing. “It’s okay, Dean. We’ve got you. The cops arrested that bastard right after you got to the hospital. He’s never gonna touch you again.”_

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel shook as Dean recounted his months of captivity and assault. “Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, squeezing his partner’s hand. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

Dean’s lips twitched in what Castiel assumed was supposed to be a smile. “Yeah, well, I’m okay,” he said, glancing over with haunted eyes. “Can’t say I like thinking about it, though.”

“I’d think not.” Castiel could not imagine the horrors that Dean had gone through, spending months in such intense captivity. His time with Crowley paled in comparison. At least with Crowley, he had been able to cling to the facsimile of choice, having married him of his own free will.

“Doesn’t matter now, anyways,” Dean said, rolling his shoulders to unlock the tension from his spine, evidenced by several soft cracks. “Alastair’s in prison. Got him on charges for kidnapping and rape, and murder. My lawyer was able to make the case that in throwing me down the stairs, he was directly responsible for my miscarriage.” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t want the kid, but I’m not going to complain about it adding to his sentence.”

Castiel shuddered. Dean was entitled to his beliefs about his own pregnancy, and Castiel would not begrudge him taking relief in his miscarriage, but Castiel could not imagine losing a child like that. Perhaps it was because Samandriel had been his rock, keeping him sane in his marriage. “I’m glad he’s locked up,” Castiel said firmly.

Dean laughed hollowly. “Yeah, you and me both.” He sighed, idly tracing a pattern over the back of Castiel’s hand. “It was rough at first, but I’m okay now. Life goes on, and all that crap.”

Castiel gave him a tiny smile. “I suppose it does,” he replied softly.

Dean sighed and pushed himself off the bed. “Well, this is a depressing conversation,” he said, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Come on. I don’t want my day off to be a total downer. What do you say we get you acquainted with some good, old-fashioned shoot-em-ups?”

Castiel nodded, following Dean out into the living room, eager to move past the subject of abusive partners and haunted histories. He allowed Dean to select a movie and curled up next to him on the couch, absently combing his fingers through Dean’s soft hair. They would be all right. Castiel was sure of it.


	12. The Courtroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first section of the trial passes smoothly, but Crowley plants doubts about the custody case in Castiel's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I meant to have this up sooner. I had a visitor this weekend, and then some completely stupid crap happened that had me in a place where writing would be a bad idea. So... Yes sorry that this is not as soon as I would have liked.
> 
> I did my best with researching how alimony works, but I'll be honest, I have only the vaguest clue of what I'm doing with the legal things. If you have feedback for me, that would be lovely. If I've messed up too much, I'd rather know so I can rework the chapter than set up a basis for future chapters set on lies and falsehoods.
> 
> FYI, next chapter will be smut.

Castiel paced nervously, his fingers flying to his bright blue tie, borrowed from Dean’s paltry collection of formal clothing. His cheap, thrift-store suit itched, and he fought the urge to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt and scratch his wrists raw. “You’ll be fine,” Sam assured him, resting a comforting hand on his client’s shoulder. Castiel stilled, swallowing hard as he glanced at his lawyer. Sam certainly seemed calm; Castiel willed his pounding heart to quiet. “Remember, it’s a civil trial. Odds are, it’s just going to be me going back and forth with Crowley’s lawyer, working out terms. Worst case scenario, we don’t come to a decision today and have to meet again to hash out the alimony details. Best case scenario, we’ll get alimony worked out today and get a start on the custody case.”

Castiel nodded, fidgeting slightly. He did not relish the idea of seeing Crowley again, even from the other end of a court room. Sam sighed, folding his hands over the handle of his briefcase. “Remember, confidence, and you probably won’t need to do much in any case. I know you’ve got a lot of bad history with Crowley, but you want to try to keep that out of the courtroom. Unless you’ve changed your mind, and want to press charges against him for abuse—”

“No,” Castiel said, cutting Sam off before he could finish the thought. “No, I just want to get this over with. I don’t want to deal with a lengthy criminal trial.”

Sam nodded agreeably. “Okay. Then none of your history with how he treated you should come up, okay? In, out, work out an agreement for alimony, and the custody case should be underway in a matter of weeks. All said, it’s probably only going to take a few months total to get the whole thing finalized, including the work we’ve already put in.”

Castiel nodded. Nearly two months had passed since he had left Crowley, and the whole situation was beginning to take on the muted, hazy feel of memory in his mind. About to see his soon to be ex-spouse in person, he wondered if he would be able to detach himself from the past so easily.

The courtroom doors opened, heavy oak swinging noiselessly. Sam offered Cas a reassuring smile and rose, motioning for Cas to follow. Castiel swallowed hard and fell in line behind his lawyer, his second-hand dress shoes squeaking slightly against the polished wooden floor.

On the other side of the room, Crowley sat with his lawyer, a pretty, polished young Beta woman. “That’s Bela Talbot,” Sam murmured, nodding politely at the woman, who raised a manicured hand in response. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s good, but she’s usually better suited to the criminal sphere. She makes a lot of money defending businessmen against allegations of embezzlement and other white-collar crimes. I don’t know how much experience she has with divorce law.”

That would explain how Crowley knew her. Castiel sat stiffly, avoiding the hot, angry gaze of his spouse. He could feel Crowley’s glare even from the other side of the room; he clenched his hands in his lap. The man had no power over him here, he reminded himself.

“All rise for the honorable judge Henriksen.” The bailiff’s loud, crisp voice rang clear in the large, empty room. Castiel stood, his knees shaking with nervous anticipation as a tall, dark Beta entered the courtroom, black robes swishing about his knees as he made his way to the judge’s stand. Castiel hoped that Gabriel had been right in picking this man as the judge. He certainly seemed imposing.

Sam gave Castiel a reassuring smile. “Henriksen’s good,” he whispered, barely audible even in the nearly silent room. “Very sympathetic to the plaintiffs in civil cases. Gabriel was right to put us with him.”

Castiel nodded, smoothing his hands over his dress pants. That was good. He trusted Sam to know what he was talking about.

His lawyer had not been wrong about the proceedings. The trial seemed to wear on forever, but Castiel was able to sit quietly in the box, listening to Sam and Bela arguing terms back and forth. Bela insisted that Crowley did not owe Castiel much of anything in terms of alimony. Castiel had left of his own free will, despite being unskilled and unemployed. In any case, Castiel already had money, or was it a coincidence that Crowley’s wallet had disappeared the same night as Castiel? Not, of course, that her client planned to press criminal charges for the theft. He was much too good a man for that.

Sam, to his credit, argued Castiel’s case very well. Crowley had been the sole earner for the family; the court could not expect Castiel to support himself fully while he looked for a job and built up a resume. Not that the court could factor this in to the official alimony sum with custody still undecided, but Castiel would be supporting at least two small children, at least in part, and child support would not go very far without a pre-existing monetary basis.

Castiel struggled to pay attention to the proceedings. He didn’t care about the money. He wanted this part of the trial to be over so that he could focus on the custody case. Truly, the only reason he did not throw up his hands and tell Sam to cede to Bela was the knowledge that he needed some form of income if he wanted any hope of getting his son back. Employers were not exactly falling over themselves to hire a twenty-six year old high school graduate with no resume to speak of.

It took several hours for Sam and Bela to come to any sort of agreement. Castiel had not had to speak the entire time; Crowley, too, had been mercifully silent, occasionally leaning over to mutter in Bela’s ear, just loud enough for the court reporter to make out his words. Several times Sam asked for them to be repeated loud enough that he and Castiel could hear, but it seemed to Castiel that it was never of any direct consequence to the case.

Castiel’s back ached from sitting still by the time Judge Henriksen handed down his ruling. Crowley was to grant Castiel three thousand dollars per month in alimony, subject to reconsideration upon the results of the custody case, and Castiel’s luck in the job search. It seemed like a lot to Castiel, though he knew it was pocket change to Crowley. No, the true victory here was wringing anything out of his former mate at all; Crowley might not miss the money, but it would damn well hurt his pride.

Sam walked Cas out of the courtroom, shiny dress shoes clicking against the polished floors. “Is Dean picking you up, or do you need a ride home?” he asked, halting outside the doors and loosening his tie.

“Dean said he’d come get me if I gave him a call. Can I use your phone?” Castiel asked hesitantly.

“Winchester!” Crowley’s lawyer shouted at Sam from across the parking lot, waving him over. Sam handed his phone to Castiel with an apologetic smile and turned, hastening over to Bela’s car. Cas shrugged, pulling up Dean’s number and firing off a quick text.

The tap of familiar footsteps sounded behind Castiel; he froze, Sam’s phone still clutched in his hands. “What do you want, Crowley?” he demanded, not bothering to turn around. He knew his soon to be former husband without needing to see him.

“Strange, that you bothered to file divorce proceedings at all.” Crowley moved into Castiel’s field of vision and leaned casually against Sam’s car. His pleasant expression did not reach his eyes; instinctively, Castiel took a step back. “Really, Castiel. When all the legal formalities are said and done, you’ve still mated with me. You think dissolving a paper contract changes that?”

“Biological ties to mates were outed as a hoax years ago,” Castiel replied, crossing his arms, resisting the urge to shrink into himself. “Nothing but an old-fashioned lie to try to control Omegas and particularly unlucky Betas. Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to argue with science.”

“Science has a particularly bleeding-heart bias these days.” Crowley smiled thinly, arching an eyebrow at Castiel. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

“You’re really enough of an idiot to ask that,” Castiel remarked dryly. “You don’t own me, Crowley. You don’t get to question my motives.”

“Yes, I suppose the law would say that.” Crowley shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “Little Samandriel came home over a short break a few weekends ago. I must say, he was very upset that you left me. The boy’s starting to learn his place after all.”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. “I am sorry to have missed him,” he murmured, glancing down at folded hands. “It’s for the best that I left, though. Come the end of the semester, I’m pulling him out of that medieval school. Or have they decided to go the route of illegality and allow students to be enrolled against the express wishes of one of their parents?”

“Oh, we won’t need to worry about that,” Crowley replied icily. “I fully intend to pursue full custody of all our children. It won’t be an issue then. Tell me—how is my unborn child doing? I can assume you’ve been getting proper prenatal care?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Oh, but of course. You don’t have the money for that. Frankly, I’m surprised you scrapped up the funds to afford Winchester’s services. And how are you managing that? Fucking him through the divorce?”

A burst of disbelieving laughter ripped from Castiel’s chest. “You’re desperate to goad me, aren’t you?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sam’s a better man than someone like you could ever dream of being. The alimony will more than pay for his services. How did he put it—not all lawyers are soulless money suckers, I believe.”

Crowley hummed, quirking an eyebrow. “But of course. You’re a strong, independent Omega who’s too good to take a knot as you’re meant to do. Silly me.”

Castiel scowled. “Why are you here, really?” he demanded angrily. “I have no interest in conversing with sexist ignorants like yourself.”

“Oh, just making idle conversation.” Crowley shrugged amicably. “And I figured I’d be kind enough to tell you how my son is doing.”

Castiel did not want to hear words about Samandriel drip from Crowley’s poisonous lips. He scowled; Crowley grinned as though amused by his reaction. “Oh, yes, the school is working wonders. They’ve finally managed to undo all the damage you caused in raising him to be headstrong and defiant. I might have to offer up a donation in gratitude. Submission and quiet—those are the traits you Omegas ought to display.”

Castiel clenched his fists. “I will not stand by and let you brainwash my son,” he hissed angrily. “You’re fighting for full custody? Bring it on. If I have my way, you’ll never see him again.”

“But you won’t, so I see no need to worry. Really, Castiel, do you think any judge in his right mind would grant custody to an unemployed Omega with no skills and no hope of raising a child in a proper home?”

A snarl bubbled up in Castiel’s chest. “And you think a judge would consign a child to the constrictive upbringing you’d offer?” he demanded furiously. “That’s gone the way of last century, you ass.”

“And we’re down to name calling. A sure sign that you’re ready to parent properly.” Crowley tsked, shaking his head.

A horn blared, startling Cas; his head whipped around. Dean poked his head out of the window of the Impala. “Cas, you good to go?” he called.

“I still have Sam’s phone!” Castiel shouted back. He turned to go find his lawyer; Crowley’s hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, stilling him. Old conditioning fought to rear its head; he locked his knees and stood, frozen. He would not debase himself by dropping to his knees in the middle of the parking lot.

“You might think you’ve accomplished something in leaving me, Castiel, but you haven’t,” Crowley hissed, spittle flying from his lips in flecks that landed on Castiel’s cheek. “All you’ve done is locked yourself in a life of poverty and solitude. No self-respecting Alpha or Beta will take an Omega who’s already been mated, and mark my words, as soon as the trial is over, you will never see your children again. You’ll barely have time to squeeze that next one out before I make sure he is taken from you.”

Castiel glared straight ahead. “Strange, that you think other Alphas and Betas share your values. They don’t.” _And I have Dean anyways._ “And you will not take my children from me.”

“What’s going on here?” It seemed that Dean had exited the car; he strode towards Castiel, bright green eyes flashing angrily. “Cas, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, shrugging his shoulder out from under Crowley’s hand. “We were having a friendly discussion of the upcoming custody case.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in dislike. “So this is Crowley?” he said, directing the question at Cas and ignoring the Alpha. “Seems like a dick.”

Castiel snorted, amused by Dean’s boldness. “You could say that,” he responded as though his former mate was not standing directly in front of him. “Come on. I do need to get Sam’s phone back. How did you get here so quickly?” He started walking, resisting the urge to take Dean’s hand. He didn’t want rumors of an unnatural relationship to get out before custody had been decided.

“I might have been hanging around the area,” Dean replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have much to do when I got off work.”

“I’m not going to complain,” Castiel said softly. “You might have picked up that our discussion was not so friendly.”

Dean snorted. “If I didn’t know it would make you angry, I’d beat him into a puddle here in the parking lot,” he said tightly. “What was he saying, anyway? Looked like he was goading you.”

Cas shrugged. “He was threatening me with the outcome of the custody case. I think he’s going to be very disappointed. Even if we end up with a traditionalist judge, there’s still the stereotype that Omegas are better for raising children than Alphas. If we don’t, well, then they won’t be so inclined to pass over custody to Crowley. Single sex schools have a bad reputation.” He pursed his lips, disinclined to think of his son in such a place. “They have that reputation for a reason.”

“Maybe they’ve improved since you were a kid?” Dean asked hopefully. Castiel grimaced in response. “Well, it’s a thought,” Dean insisted, but he looked as though he did not believe his own words.

“Of course it is. And perhaps I will be hired as a college professor. Anything’s possible.”

Dean was silent for the rest of the short trek to return Sam’s phone, and for the duration of the walk back to his car. Castiel felt slightly guilty for his pessimism—Dean was only trying to help—but Dean could also never understand. Not only had the man spent his formative years in public school, from the things he had said in previous conversations, he had never met anyone who had attended them.

Corporal punishment had been outlawed even in private schools decades before Castiel had been sent away, but the truly conservative schools, especially those segregated by sex, had found other ways of curbing so-called undesirable behavior. Stern words from teachers, little comments slipped into the lessons, and mandatory classes not required in public school—home economics in the case of Omegas, and Castiel imagined that Alpha and Beta only schools had a similar set-up—slipped all too easily into the psyche of unprepared students. Castiel could recall only two Omega staff members from his year at the school; one had worked in the cafeteria, the other on a cleaning crew. Castiel had gone in outspoken and defiant, and while he had never fully bought into the certifiable brainwashing, niggling doubts had sprouted in its wake—doubts that he sometimes wondered if he would ever fully shed.

Dean did not understand, and Castiel wished that the man would not try to make him feel better.

The first few minutes of the car ride were filled with an awkward silence. “So what was the verdict?” Dean asked finally.

Castiel smiled slightly. “It wasn’t that sort of trial, Dean. There was no verdict to hand down.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean. How did it go?”

Castiel shrugged. “It went fine. I have been granted three thousand dollars per month in alimony, subject to change with circumstances. The custody trial will proceed shortly, from what Sam said.”

Dean nodded. “Good,” he said, turning his gaze back to the road.

It was strange, how much Dean’s house had begun to feel like home. Castiel stepped through the door and shucked the coat and dress shoes, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Dean’s work boots caught his eye, neatly lined up in the corner by the door. “I need to get a job,” he mused, fingering the edges of his tie.

“Why?” Dean asked, hanging his leather jacket neatly in the coat closet. “I’m not gonna start charging you rent, and you’ve got alimony money.”

Castiel sighed. “Something that Crowley said, and unfortunately, I think he has a point,” he admitted. “It doesn’t look good that I’m unemployed. It may affect the court’s decision in the custody trial.”

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but it’s going to be hard,” he said finally. “Do you think you’ll be able to get a job while pregnant? I know places aren’t supposed to discriminate, but—”

“But they do anyway,” Castiel finished. He sighed. He would be showing soon—it wasn’t as though he would be able to hide his pregnancy from prospective employers. Already his chest was growing tender, warning that breast tissue was in the process of forming, readying him to nurse a child. “I have to try anyways.”

Dean nodded, nibbling on his lip. “Talk to Ellen?” he suggested finally. “I know you haven’t met her, but I’ll introduce you. Maybe she could use some help at the bar.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, slipping his arms around his partner’s smooth, lean waist. Dean drew him close, curling his arms protectively about his torso. Castiel sighed and leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder, content. “I’ll still look other places, but that would be helpful.”

He could feel Dean’s lips turn up against his neck. “Of course, Cas,” he murmured, lightly kissing him just below his ear.

Castiel tightened his grip around Dean’s waist. “Are you trying to start something?” he asked, twisting his head so he could place a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s neck.

Dean’s hands fisted in his shirt. “If it wasn’t, you’re making it hard not to,” he replied huskily, grinding his crotch against Castiel’s.

Castiel bit back a moan and forced himself to take a step back, staring up into Dean’s eyes, bright green flashing with desire. “What are you asking for?” he queried quietly, his low voice thick with lust. True to their earlier agreement, they had been taking things slow; Cas had helped Dean through his most recent heat, but like the first time, he had kept it strictly to hands. Holding his partner now, Castiel wanted more, but no more than Dean was willing to give.

Dean stared at him, full lips parted slightly, glistening pink. “You, if that’s all right,” he whispered, drinking in Cas as though seeing him for the first time.

Castiel smiled and released Dean, taking his hand. “Then come,” he said softly, pulling Dean towards the bedroom.


	13. Love and Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shows Dean how two Omegas make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a beta reader now! Woohoo! And I'm posting this chapter before he gets the chance to take a look at it... Don't tell him. I'll go back and add any edits he orders later. For now, I'm late enough in posting this that I just want to get it up. Hopefully, it was worth the wait!
> 
> Nothing but smut. Seriously, this entire chapter is just sex. I figure you deserve it after the past few heavy chapters. I love you all, you fantastic people.

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, a roaring tattoo that blocked out everything but his own burning blood and the man before him, strong and sweet and _Cas._ Dean breathed in deeply, Castiel’s sweet scent strong and rich with arousal. With trembling hands, he slid off his own plaid over shirt, his eyes never leaving his partner.

Castiel undressed slowly, seeming to make a game out of shimmying out of his dress shirt and dark slacks. He swiveled his hips invitingly as he slid his boxers down endless legs, moving with a grace Dean would have never before associated with him. “I’ll walk you through this,” he murmured seductively, his low voice a tight, needy growl in Dean’s ears. “But I can’t do much if you’re still dressed.”

Hastily, Dean pulled his T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans, stepping out of them as they pooled around his ankles. He slipped off his boxers and tossed them aside, shivering as cool air hit his exposed body. It was not an unpleasant feeling, he decided, watching Castiel’s pupils dilate as the man drank in his body.

“Gorgeous,” Castiel whispered, closing the gap between them. With gentle hands, he steered Dean towards the bed and pushed him down onto the mattress, climbing up on the bed to hover over Dean. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

In response, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and caught Castiel’s lips with his own, sighing contentedly as the man let him in, their tongues entwining in perfect harmony. “Yes,” he breathed, pulling back to admire Castiel’s flushed face and sparkling blue eyes.

Castiel hummed, pressing his mouth to Dean’s jaw. Dean shivered, waves of pleasure radiating from the point of contact, rolling through his body. “Talk to me, Dean,” Cas ordered, his lips brushing against Dean’s skin. “How do you want this? Do you want me to take you?” He dipped his head to suck firmly at Dean’s neck. Dean gasped, his hands rising unthinkingly, wrapping around Castiel’s strong back and gripping tightly. “Or would you rather top me?”

“I—” Dean gasped as Castiel’s mouth caught his throat, sucking just hard enough that Dean was sure there would be a mark in the morning. God, this wasn’t fair—how did Cas expect him to concentrate? “Either,” he moaned, bucking up as Castiel bore down, grinding against him, his erection sliding against Dean’s own. “Both. I—god, Cas!”

Castiel shushed him. “We have all the time in the world for both,” he whispered, his low voice thick and raspy with arousal, hot breath ghosting over Dean’s skin. “What do you want now?”

Slick was building up in Dean’s passage, every word of Castiel’s sending jolts of fiery pleasure to his lower body. “Take me, Cas,” he groaned, planting his feet on the bed and arching up, grinding fiercely against the man above him. A moan slipped from Castiel’s lips, and he seized Dean’s biceps, gripping them firmly.

“As you wish,” he breathed, peppering Dean’s chest with light kisses, the soft brush of his lips a delightful contrast to the rasp of his stubble-lined jaw. Dean gasped as Castiel’s tongue flicked across his nipple, swirling in slow, gentle movements, teasing the sensitive skin into a hardened peak.

Cas held Dean in place, working his way down the man’s body at a leisurely pace. By the time Castiel’s lips reached his hips, Dean was sure that he would explode. Tightly wound, pulled taut like a bow ready to fire, it was all Dean could do to keep from coming as Castiel licked a stripe from one hip to the other, the edge of his face nestling against Dean’s cock. “Cas, please,” he moaned, his hips shifting of their own accord, seeking greater contact. “You keep that up, I’m gonna blow right now.”

Castiel chuckled and drew back, gazing at Dean with hungry eyes. Barely a sliver of blue remained visible around the man’s enlarged pupils, dark and glinting with desire. “My apologies,” he murmured teasingly, his breath coming in soft pants. “But some day,” he breathed, slithering up Dean’s body to whisper in his ear, “I’m going to take an entire day to lick every inch of you. I’m going to taste every inch of your skin, gorge myself on your slick and your cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean moaned in response, words failing him. “I know I would.”

Dean ran his hand down Castiel’s back, coming to rest directly under the man’s ass. Slick pooled around his fingers; Castiel was positively dripping. “Sure you’re okay with topping?” Dean asked breathlessly, taking a moment to get his thoughts under control.

“Of course,” Cas murmured, running a gentle hand, textured with tiny callouses, down Dean’s side, coming to rest on his hip. “I’ll get my pleasure either way. And tonight—” and holy shit, there was no way that Castiel’s tongue flicking inhis ear should have such a powerful effect on his groin “—I want you under me, screaming my name.”

Well, okay. Dean could live with that. Castiel smirked as though he could read Dean’s thoughts. That wicked tongue flicked over his lips as he ran his hand down Dean’s torso and stomach, brushing against his straining cock and over his perineum. Castiel paused, taking a moment to gauge Dean’s reaction.

“Cas, please,” Dean moaned, a spurt of slick drizzling out of his hole, anticipating what was coming.

“We’re going to do this right,” Castiel purred, slipping a single finger into Dean’s wet passage. Dean groaned, the intrusion all-encompassing, at once too much and not enough. Dean was no stranger to finger-fucking—most of the time, it was the only thing that got him through his heats—but there was something different about Cas’s fingers, something so completely different from his own, and infinitely better. Perhaps it was the angle—Castiel was hitting deeper than he could on his own.

Castiel slid a second finger alongside his first, the stretch just on the right side of painful. “Good, Dean,” he crooned, crooking his fingers in a motion that made Dean gasp and fist his hands in the sheets. “Let me know if it gets to be too much.”

“It’s not,” Dean panted, tilting his head back to get a better look at Castiel’s face. His partner’s eyes shone, dark with lust as they tracked Dean’s motions and the movements of his own fingers. Roses blossomed in his cheeks as his plump lips fell open; the sheen of sweat that coated his face seemed to glow in the dim light.

“Okay,” Castiel whispered, sliding a third finger into Dean alongside the other two. Dean groaned as the stretch burned. “Still all right?” Castiel asked softly, stilling to give Dean time to adjust to the intrusion. Dean nodded, thrusting his hips into Castiel’s hand. Cas smiled and slowly pumped his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to Dean’s crotch.

“Lift your hips,” he ordered, sliding his hand out of Dean’s passage, the fingers of his other hand sending streaks of pleasant fire through Dean’s skin as it wandered down his body. Dean complied, planting his feet flat on the mattress, his toes curling into soft, over-washed sheets. “You’re going to want to relax,” Castiel advised, rearing up onto his knees and gripping Dean’s hips with firm hands, his fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s ass, pleasantly firm in their hold.

Castiel positioned himself and pushed into Dean slowly, halting for a moment when Dean’s groans turned pained. “Cas, I’m fine,” Dean hissed through gritted teeth. _“Move.”_

“So bossy.” Castiel snapped his hips forward, burying himself in Dean’s body with a single thrust. Dean cried out, reaching for Cas, finding his shoulders and gripping hard, shuddering with strain and overwhelming sensation. Cas rocked back, setting a slow, gentle pace as Dean’s body relaxed, accustoming itself to his partner’s girth.

“Talk to me, Dean,” Cas panted, tightening his grip on his partner’s thighs. “Is this good? Do you want me to go faster? Slow down?”

“Faster,” Dean moaned, thrusting his hips forward in time with Castiel’s motions. “Oh, God, Cas, _please.”_

Castiel obliged, gradually speeding up his pace until he was pounding into Dean, the slap of skin against skin broken only by Castiel’s pants and Dean’s moans. A breathy cry caught in Dean’s throat as Castiel’s thrusts shook his skin, the reverberating effect jolting Dean’s prostate; his partner moaned in response, long-lashed eyelids fluttering closed with ecstasy.

Each of Cas’s thrusts seemed to carry him deeper into Dean’s passage, his cock pushing hard against Dean's flesh, sending ripples of pleasure through Dean's body, its passage eased by the copious amounts of slick Dean’s body seemed determined to produce. Fire curled and built in Dean’s gut, pressure more intense than any he had ever felt building up in his body, threatening to explode from his iron erection. “Cas,” Dean moaned as waves of pleasure and pressure crashed into each other, tangling about until he thought he would burst from the sensation. “Cas, Cas, Cas  CasCasCas _Cas!”_

The noise that ripped its way from Dean’s throat was somewhere between a moan and a scream as he came, hot spurts of cum spilling from his erection, sloshing across his stomach and dripping onto rumpled sheets. Castiel’s eyes flew open; he came with a moan, loud and obscene and the most perfect noise Dean had ever heard. Castiel’s arms shook; he released Dean’s hips and collapsed, pulling out of Dean and rolling onto his side, his cock still shooting out waves of hot cum, mingling with Dean’s slick on the mattress.

Dean panted, a strange feeling of weightlessness settling into his bones. With a groan, he mustered up the energy to roll over onto his side, staring at the debauched man beside him. Castiel gasped for breath, his face red with exertion, but he stared at Dean as though he had never seen anything quite like him, sated and content.

“Dean,” Cas mumbled, slinging an arm over the man’s waist. “I don’t even have words for that.”

Dean hummed, a giddy smile crossing his face. “Intense?” he offered, his voice breathy and quiet. “Wonderful? Dare I say it—orgasmic?”

“You’re an ass,” Cas muttered, drawing Dean close to him and burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “And you have a nice ass too.”

Dean chuckled, sleepily wrapping his arms around his partner. “You seemed to like it,” he joked drowsily, inhaling Castiel’s scent—less strong than it had been when the man was burning with arousal, but no less intoxicating for its muted quality.

Cas hummed in agreement. “We should clean up,” he muttered, making no move to extricate himself from Dean’s embrace.

“We should,” Dean agreed, tightening his hold on the man. They really should at least shower and strip the sheets, but Cas was warm and comfortable, and he was much too pleasure-drunk to move.

They laid there for several minutes before Cas pushed himself away from Dean, sitting up with a sigh. “Come on,” he said, helping Dean to sit up. “Join me in the shower, and we can deal with the sheets after.”

“I don’t think I have the energy for another round,” Dean warned the other man. As enticing as it sounded, and as much as he would love to pay Cas back for the consuming pleasure he had given him, he was neither a teenager nor in heat; he doubted his cock would cooperate in any sexual endeavors for another few hours at least.

“Neither do I,” Cas admitted, pushing himself off the bed and standing on shaky legs. “I’d still like to shower with you, if you’re so inclined.”

Dean grinned and rose, palming the man’s ass, sticky with drying slick. “Yeah, no point in taking turns. I’ve already seen all you’ve got to offer.”

“How charming.” Castiel returned Dean’s grope with a good-natured swat of his own, then led the way to the bathroom.

The hot water was a blessing, removing stiffness and aches from Dean’s muscles before they had the chance to properly set in. He scrubbed, almost reluctant to remove the remnants of sex—the proof that it had happened—from his skin, his eyes never leaving Castiel. Even in something as simple as washing, Cas was all grace, soaping up his long limbs and washing away the suds to reveal smooth, flawless skin. Dean licked his lips and resisted the temptation to pin his partner against the wall and talk his dick into performing for another round. There would be plenty of time to go again later. Maybe tomorrow morning he would talk Castiel into a round of shower sex. From the way the man’s hungry eyes devoured him, he doubted that his partner would complain.

They did not bother to re-make the bed, stripping the sheets and collapsing onto the bare mattress. Dean gathered up Castiel in his arms, nuzzling the man’s neck. “I love you,” he whispered, the words sliding from his mouth so easily, he wondered why he had not said them before.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Castiel sighed, molding his body against Dean’s. “Dean Winchester,” he murmured, his gravelly voice thick and sleepy. “I love you too.”


	14. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas pass a lazy, comfortable morning. Sam calls Castiel with information about the upcoming custody case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving the boys a bit of a break, because goodness knows I've put them through a lot of stress in this fic. Hopefully, next chapter will signal the end of all the legal hullabaloo, and no complaints there on my part!

Castiel awoke to the double problem of nausea and a desperately full bladder. “Damnit,” he muttered, pushing out of bed and speeding off to the bathroom, praying that he could hold off his need to vomit long enough to relieve himself. Mornings during pregnancy were the worst.

Dean came into the bathroom while Castiel’s head was still in the toilet, busy voiding bile and the scant contents of his stomach. “You okay?” the man asked. Castiel groaned, heaving again. This wasn’t quite how he had planned on greeting his lover after last night.

“I’m pregnant, I’m sick, and I’m going to be sick for the next several months,” he grumbled, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and flushing the toilet. “I’m just peachy.”

Dean knelt beside him and laid a cool hand on his burning back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Castiel groaned, the pressure relieving some of the ache in his muscles. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Castiel’s flushed, sweaty neck. “Is there anything I can do?”

Castiel shook his head. “Just have to wait for it to pass,” he muttered. “And I should shower and brush my teeth. I think that will help.”

“I’m going to get you some water. Want me to join you in the shower?” Dean rose, ruffling Castiel’s hair, the affection soothing and surprisingly bittersweet. Crowley had never shown affection when Castiel had been sick during his last pregnancy, preferring to complain about his mate’s inability to simply ‘get over himself.’ Castiel swallowed the growing in his throat as emotion tugged at his chest. Dean’s kindness felt almost unfair; he didn’t deserve it. He shouldn’t need it.

“Hey, now.” Dean pressed a glass of water into Castiel’s hand and ran a finger down Castiel’s cheek, wiping away a tear. Castiel had not even realized that he was crying.  “Talk to me, Cas. What’s wrong?”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he assured Dean, swiping furiously at his eyes. “Hormones, that’s all. Happens.” Hastily, he downed the water Dean had brought him and set the cup down on the closed toilet lid. “I’m fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear across his face. “You don’t look fine,” he said, laying a gentle hand on Castiel’s back. “You sure I can’t do anything to help?”

Castiel shook his head. “Shower, that’s all I can think of. Of course I want you to join me.” He rubbed his face on his shoulder, embarrassed by the wet patch it left on his skin. “God, I’m a mess. I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean took Castiel’s face in his hands and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked. Castiel did not answer; Dean sighed and rose, turning on the water. “Come on. Shower, then breakfast.”

“Let me brush my teeth. I smell.” Castiel sighed and pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the toothbrush he kept neatly beside Dean’s on the bathroom counter.

Dean grimaced. “Might not be a bad idea,” he said, grabbing his toothpaste.

Sweeping the acrid taste of his morning sickness out of his mouth felt like clearing away all his insecurities and morose feelings. Castiel felt immensely better for the cleanliness; even his stomach was beginning to settle. Neither he nor Dean had dressed after their passionate night, so at least he did not have clothes to delay his shower.

The warm water was a godsend. Castiel sighed, relaxing as the spray hit his skin, the gentle pressure loosening his locked, aching muscles marginally. Dean entered the shower shortly after, wrapping strong arms around Castiel and kissing his neck. “You’re tense,” he murmured, drawing Castiel closer to his chest. “Back massage after the shower?”

Castiel smiled. “You’re too good to me,” he replied, turning his head so he could catch Dean’s lips in a brief kiss.

“You can make it up to me by giving me one too,” Dean said teasingly, his lips soft and warm against Castiel’s own.

It was nice, being with Dean, showering with someone who truly cared for him, who did not expect that their naked proximity necessarily meant sex. Dean’s erection was evident, pressed into Castiel’s back, but he made no move to take things further than kissing and holding. Had Castiel not woken up violently ill, he might have made a move to initiate things himself, but for now he was simply glad for his partner’s understanding.

There was little need to wash thoroughly, having showered the previous night, but when Dean reached for the soap and began to rub it in gentle circles over Castiel’s chest, he found it hard to complain. He sighed, relaxing back against his partner, allowing Dean to care for him.

He drew the line at Dean toweling him off when they exited the shower. “I’m not a child, Dean,” he teased, grabbing the towel from the other man’s hands and briskly drying his hair and body, before tossing the soft cloth at his partner.

“No shit,” Dean shot back, mussing cloth over his scalp, his short hair spiking in its wake. “Maybe I just want an excuse to touch you.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You need an excuse now?” he asked dryly.

Dean swatted him with the towel. “Shut up,” was his only reply before he pushed Castiel out of the bathroom. “Come on, we need to get dressed. I don’t want my neighbors turning into peeping toms because they saw your ass through the window.”

Castiel grumbled but obeyed, following Dean to the bedroom. Since he had arrived at the man’s house, he had accumulated a small wardrobe of thrift store clothing, but today he elected to steal Dean’s favorite Led Zepplin shirt and a pair of jeans that were much too long and swam around his ankles. From the fond crinkle at the edges of Dean’s eyes, his partner approved.

Breakfast was quick and silent, though Dean, at least, seemed to remember that they had not eaten dinner the night before and seemed determined to stuff both himself and Castiel full, and they moved to the living room for the promised back massages. Castiel stripped off his shirt and laid down on the couch, sighing as tired muscles groaned in protest.

Dean’s hands were warm and soothing, skillfully kneading out knots and tight spots. A moan of pleasure slipped from Castiel’s lips as Dean worked down his body, teasing the tension from his muscles, artfully applying pressure until the aches had faded, leaving loose, pain free muscles behind.

“My turn,” Dean said teasingly, drawing back and stripping off his own shirt, exposing the broad expanse of his back and shoulders before Castiel. Castiel grinned, sitting up and reaching for his partner, laying his hands on the man’s strong, warm back.

Dean had all the muscles of a man who did physical labor, but they manifested in sleek, compressed lines rather than bulges and hard, stocky tissue. Castiel took his time, exploring Dean as much as massaging him, his fingers memorizing every inch of his skin. Dean groaned, his head dropping to his chest as Castiel gripped his shoulders firmly, kneading that smooth, freckled skin, so soft over his hard physique. “Feels good?” he asked, rolling the heel of his palm over Dean’s skin.

If Dean’s answering groan was any indication, the answer was yes. Castiel smiled, easing up on the pressure and creeping his fingers down Dean’s back, searching for tight spots. Dean’s body seemed to melt into the couch, relaxing under Castiel’s touch. Castiel leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on the back of his neck, inhaling the sweet smell that was all Dean, not quite masked by shampoo and soap.

“Good way to start the day?” he queried, shifting slightly so that he could lay down beside his partner, their bodies pressed together on the couch.

Dean grinned, running a gentle, calloused hand through Castiel’s hair, his warm fingers light and soothing. “Very good,” he replied, closing his eyes with contentment and nuzzling Castiel’s neck, all warmth and comfort, his presence solid and reassuring. Castiel hummed, snuggling close to his partner, intent on enjoying a lazy morning. Dean wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.

0o0o0o0o0

The loud, shrill ring of the house phone interrupted Castiel’s lazy reverie. He yawned, sitting up to allow Dean to rise from the couch, reaching for the television remote to mute the background noise Dean had put on an hour or two ago.

“Hello?” Dean’s brow furrowed; after a moment, he handed the phone to Castiel. “It’s Sam,” he said quietly. “He wants to talk to you.”

Castiel nodded and took the phone from his partner. “Sam?” he asked by way of greeting.

 _“Hey, Cas.”_ Sam’s voice was crackly and distorted, accompanied by the dull, muted roar of traffic. _“Got a minute?”_

“Of course,” Castiel replied, propping his legs up on the arm of the couch. He motioned for Dean to join him; the couch dipped slightly under his partner’s weight as the man sat, wrapping his arms around Castiel and drawing him back against his chest.

 _“Good. I’m calling on my lunch break.”_ Sam sighed, the exhalation rasping through the phone’s speaker. _“So, Gabriel called today. The custody trial is going to be two weeks from tomorrow.”_

Castiel nodded. It was sooner than he had expected, but he could live with that. The sooner he could pull Samandriel from Crowley’s grasp, the better. “That’s good, right?” he asked, drumming the fingers of his free hand absently against Dean’s forearm.

_“I guess? Gabriel was able to set us up with Henriksen as a judge again, so we don’t have to worry about getting an unsympathetic judge. He’s already familiar with your case, so that will speed things along.”_

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Castiel said, picking up on the unspoken trepidation in Sam’s voice.

Sam exhaled again. _“It’s not so much a ‘but’ as something you should be informed of now,”_ he said finally. _“Henriksen is big on having the kids involved testify during custody cases. Well, not so much testify as give their input. Obviously, we can only take the kid’s input so far in a custody case, since it’s up to the judge to examine the parents first and foremost, but there’s a good chance that Henriksen will request that Samandriel be there.”_

Castiel’s chest constricted. Samandriel would be at the trial? He was going to get to see his son again, after all these months? He swallowed hard. “What sort of effect do you think that will have on the outcome?” he asked quietly.

_“I’ve honestly got no idea. Listen, I’m going to put you in touch with my friend Jessica, all right? She specializes in custody cases. I think that right now, she can give you a better picture of how this will turn out than I can. I’m not going to pass your case over to her unless you want me to, but she can at least act as a consultant, if you’re agreeable.”_

Castiel nodded, though he knew that Sam could not see him. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” he replied, tightening his grip on Dean’s arm. Dean looked down at him, concern flashing in his eyes, but Castiel shook his head. He would fill Dean in when he got off the phone with Sam.

Sam offered to text Jessica’s contact information to Dean’s phone, which saved Castiel the trouble of getting up and finding a pen and paper. He bade his lawyer farewell and ended the call, setting the phone down on the coffee table with a surprisingly steady hand.

“Is everything okay?” Dean’s hand on his shoulder was more comforting than Castiel could have hoped for. He leaned into the touch gratefully, settling back down on the couch.

“Yeah,” he replied, brushing his hand idly across Dean’s denim-clad leg. “I think so. Apparently Samandriel is going to be present for the custody trial, and Sam’s going to hook me up with a lawyer who focuses on custody cases as a consultant.” Castiel gnawed idly at his lower lip, thinking. “I haven’t seen Samandriel in months. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this.”

Dean’s strong arm wrapped around his waist, resting lightly over his ribs. “It will be fine,” he murmured reassuringly. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. Hell, if they pay any attention to the way the kid interacts with his parents, that’ll definitely be a few points in your favor.”

Castiel smiled, tilting his head up to look at his lover. “You’re right,” he said, nestling up close to Dean’s chest. “We’ll just have to take it as it comes.”


	15. The Final Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel secures a job at Roadhouse. The custody trial finally gets underway, and Castiel sees Samandriel for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am super lazy, I did not do very in-depth research into custody trials. I did some, but this is probably riddled with inaccuracies. Bleh. I tried, and I tried to only take semi-realistic liberties. Also, writing children is hard. My experience with kids is pretty limited, so I don't know if Samandriel behaves and talks like a normal six year old. Sorry about that....
> 
> This concludes the trial portion of the story, and none too soon. Law is confusing and I respect all you lawyer people out there.

Dean took Castiel to Roadhouse the next day, leaving him at the front several hours before the bar opened. It was a rustic place, small and homey and furnished with dark wood. Silent and empty for the moment, it was easy to picture the place full of truckers and businessmen and women having a girl’s night out. Castiel forced down his trepidation. He needed a job, and this was his best bet.

Ellen Harvelle turned out to be a strict, no-nonsense woman with an easy smile and an air about her that commanded respect. “Castiel, right?” she asked by way of greeting, offering a firm hand. Castiel shook it, matching her strong grip. From the smile on her face, the woman approved. “Dean tells me you’re looking for a job.”

“I am.” Castiel sat when Ellen directed him, schooling his face to a neutral expression.

Ellen hummed thoughtfully. “Don’t have much in the way of a resume, do you?” she asked. “High school diplomas won’t get you very far without prior experience. Right now, your chances rest on Dean’s recommendation and your interview, so don’t screw it up, all right?” Despite her warning words, her eyes were warm and open. “If you can convince me that you’ll be an asset to my business, I’ll hire you for a trial month, and after that we can negotiate a longer contract. Sound good?”

“Yes.” Frankly, Castiel was somewhat surprised that Ellen had not rejected him immediately upon receiving his thin, underdeveloped resume.

“All right. I’m looking for someone who can handle the miscellaneous jobs. Clean up the bar after closing, run errands for me, Ash, and Jo, and fill in as a bartender and cook if Jo and I want to take the night off. At some point, I’d like to pass off the account books to someone else, and Jo’s not too thrilled about taking over there, so if you can get some experience with accounting, that will go a long way. A class or two at the local community college will suffice. I don’t need a fully trained accountant.”

Castiel nodded. “I’m an accomplished cook, and I clean well, so I can handle that part easily,” he said, twisting his hands together. He hoped he did not come across as too nervous. “Same with running errands. I take direction well, so that won’t be a problem. I am a fast study, so learning to pour drinks should not be any trouble.”

“And the accounting?” Ellen fixed him with a serious gaze. “Are you willing to put in the time to take a class?”

Castiel nodded. Between a paycheck and the alimony money, he would have enough to pay for a class, and if he could get someone to watch Samandriel and the new baby when it was born, he would have time to take it. “I am willing to take a class,” he answered hastily.

“All right.” Ellen nodded. “Now. Dean mentioned you’ve got a kid, and another one on the way. I’m willing to give you time off for a week or so after the kid’s born, but I can’t pay you for the time missed, and I can’t afford to let you off for full paternal leave.”

“That’s fine.” Castiel straightened unconsciously, determined to appear as competent as possible. “Dean has agreed to watch the children while I am at work, since his job hours and mine would not overlap. It won’t be any trouble.”

“Good.” Ellen grinned. “Far as I can tell, you’ll do fine. I trust Dean’s reference. I can pay you starting at eight dollars an hour. You do your work well and prove yourself competent, and we can talk about negotiating a raise when your trial month is up. Does that sound fair?”

“Very fair.” It was more than minimum wage, at least, and more importantly it would look good in court.

“That’s settled, then.” Ellen offered Castiel her hand again, her grip warm and reassuring. “Welcome to Roadhouse, Castiel.”

0o0o0o0o0

If things went as they were supposed to, Castiel would never set foot in court again. Numbly, he rose and sat as Sam directed, his eyes never leaving the most important person in the room—his son.

Samandriel had grown in the past few months, his blonde hair falling across his face, obscuring his light eyes. Castiel made a mental note—the first thing he was going to do after getting Samandriel settled in at Dean’s was cut his hair. He clenched his hands, willing his son to look at him, but Samandriel sat stiffly, with a worldliness that did not suit his six years, his hands folded in his lap and his head bowed. Castiel hated it. The son he knew would have been looking around curiously and fidgeting in his seat—less than three months at that damn school had locked the energy and curiosity deep inside his child. It was so unfair!

The case proceeded much as the divorce trial had, with Sam and Bela sniping back and forth, each fighting for full custody. Castiel knew that he should be watching Henriksen, gauging the judge’s reaction, but he could not tear his eyes from his son.

Several hours passed before Henriksen called for a break, to reconvene in an hour. Castiel rose, his heart pounding in his chest. “Sam, will I be permitted to talk to Samandriel?” he asked, twisting his hands nervously.

“If Ms. Moore and I are both present, yes. Just don’t talk about the case—not that I think you would.” Sam led Castiel out of the courtroom into the bright midday son. Several feet from the building, Samandriel stood quietly, flanked by a school official and the bailiff, who chatted animatedly.

Sam’s friend, Jessica Moore, had spent the trial sitting in the back of the courtroom. As an unofficial consultant, she was not permitted in the stands, but Castiel was still grateful for her presence. The few times they had met, she had proven to be sympathetic towards him, and her advice seemed solid. She joined them at the door and followed quietly as Castiel made his way towards his son.

“Samandriel?” Castiel stopped a few feet from his child, crouching down to be more on his level.

Samandriel’s head shot up, and his face split into a grin. “Papa!” he shouted, pulling away from the official and running over to Castiel, practically throwing himself at the man. Castiel laughed, scooping up his son and spinning him in a circle, wrapping his arms around his child. Samandriel was warm and light, as he had remembered, and Castiel swallowed down a lump in his throat.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, untangling himself from his child and setting him down. “Have you been well? Not getting into too much trouble, are you?”

Samandriel shook his head. “I’ve been good, Papa,” he promised, clinging to Castiel’s hand. “I’ve been really good. Can I come home with you after this?”

“That’s the plan.” Castiel smiled fondly. “We won’t know until court is over, but I have a good feeling about this.”

Samandriel nodded. “Good. I don’t want to go back to school. My teacher’s really mean, Papa.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “I know, Samandriel. I don’t want you going back there either.” He sighed. “Let’s not talk about school. Have you started reading chapter books?”

The hour long break seemed to fly by. Castiel would have been content to listen to his son talk about almost anything under the sun. Simply sitting with his child, hearing his voice and knowing that he was okay, was more than enough for him. Stepping back into the courtroom, however, brought the painful weight of reality back down upon him. Samandriel was all right for now, but in a few short hours, there was the chance that he would be ripped from Castiel again, this time for good.

He could not let that happen.

If anything, the dynamic between Sam and Bela was even more heated than it had been before the break. Bela argued that in leaving Samandriel behind at Crowley’s, Castiel had proven himself to be an unfit parent; if his son meant so much to him, he would have stayed until the custody dispute was resolved. Clearly, Crowley had Samandriel’s best interests at heart, putting him through school and caring for him despite the blow of an unexpected divorce. Sam reminded the court that single sex schools had been shown to have a negative effect on children, and that Castiel had not left with Samandriel because his son had been sent away without his consent. Bela argued that Castiel was financially insolvent and could not care for two small children; Sam brought up Castiel’s new job and the money he was receiving in alimony, not to mention the money Crowley would pay in child support if the court granted Castiel custody.

After nearly an hour of back and forth, Henriksen called Sam and Bela to a halt. “I haven’t heard any new information for the past fifteen minutes,” he rumbled, looking down his nose at the lawyers. Sam, at least, had the decency to look slightly abashed. “Let me hear from the child in question, and I will make my decision from there. If the bailiff would please escort Samandriel MacLeod to the front of the courtroom?”

Samandriel shook nervously as the bailiff stopped by his seat and led him forward. Henriksen fixed the child with a friendly smile. “Samandriel MacLeod. It is the duty of this court to determine how much time you spend with each of your parents. I prefer to take the preference of the child into account before making my decision. I don’t ask you to pick a favorite parent, but tell me—what do you want.”

Samandriel squeaked nervously, craning his neck to look at Castiel. Castiel gave him a small smile, but knew better than to say anything. It would look bad for him to influence his son’s decision before the court. “I miss Papa,” Samandriel said finally, his high, childish voice nervous. “I want to go home with Papa.”

“Papa is Castiel MacLeod?” Samandriel nodded. “What about your other father, Fergus?”

“I…” Samandriel gulped. “I—both of them? Father says they’re living apart, but I...” He stopped speaking and shifted, wiggling uncomfortably.

“All right. Thank you Samandriel.” Henriksen gestured for the bailiff to lead the child back to his seat. “Court will reconvene in half an hour, when I have made my decision. Dismissed.”

Castiel exhaled, tugging at his dress shirt. “What now?” he asked Sam nervously.

“Now we wait,” Sam replied calmly. “I think it went well. We’ve got a solid case, and Samandriel expressed a preference for you.”

Castiel nodded. “Good,” he murmured. Half an hour, and the decision would be made.

It was the longest half an hour of Castiel’s life. Sam suggested that it would be for the best to stay in their seats and wait, which meant that Castiel could not see Samandriel. At least Bela seemed to have the same idea; she and Crowley remained on the other side of the courtroom, leaning over Bela’s briefcase and talking in hushed tones. A few times, Crowley lifted his head to glare at Castiel, but he made no move to approach him, or even to speak loudly enough that Castiel could hear what the man was saying.

Finally, Henriksen re-entered the room. “The court has reached its decision,” he rumbled, folding his hands on the podium. “Castiel MacLeod will be granted primary custody of Samandriel and his unborn child. Fergus MacLeod will be granted one week of custody per month and visitation rights to be determined between the parents. Fergus MacLeod will be informed when Castiel MacLeod goes into labor with their unborn child, and will be given equal rights to name the child and raise him or her from there. Fergus MacLeod will provide Castiel MacLeod with two hundred dollars each month, beginning now, in child support. Fergus and Castiel, you are to meet after court with your lawyers present to come to an agreement in regards to Samandriel’s schooling.” Henriksen regarded them seriously for a moment, and then turned back to his notes. “I hereby close this case.”

Castiel sagged back in relief. It was over, and while it wasn’t quite the decision he had wanted to hear, it was close enough. “Thank goodness,” he whispered, reeling as he tried to process everything.

“Stay with me,” Sam ordered, pulling him to his feet. “We still have to meet with Crowley and Bela to figure out what’s going to happen with Samandriel’s education. They’ve got rooms out front that we can use.”

Castiel nodded and followed Sam from the courtroom. “Talbot!” Sam called, waving Bela over.

“Winchester.” Bela’s steely eyes showed no emotion as she offered Sam a false smile. “Congratulations. I assume you and your client are ready to meet and discuss schooling arrangements?”

“Correct.” Sam folded his arms across his chest. “And where is your client, Talbot?”

“On his way,” Bela replied sweetly. “He will be joining us shortly.”

Right on cue, Crowley walked out of the courtroom, his entire demeanor radiating rage. Savage triumph rose in Castiel’s chest, to see his former mate so humiliated. “Can we get this done?” he asked Sam, smiling sweetly at Crowley. Crowley’s eyes flashed furiously, but he said nothing. “I’d rather like to get my son home and settled.”

“Of course.” Sam gave Crowley a short nod of acknowledgement. “Let’s head to one of the conference rooms at the front. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Castiel followed Sam, unable to conceal his grin. The four of them settled around a corner of the large conference table, Sam and Bela sitting between Castiel and Crowley. “To business, then,” Bela said, sliding her briefcase under the table. “I think our clients should work this out with as little interference from us as possible, don’t you, Winchester?”

Sam frowned, but nodded. Castiel shrugged. He did not need Sam’s input on this. He knew exactly what he wanted.

“Samandriel will not be kept in a same sex school,” he began before Crowley could speak. “I will not consent to this. If you attempt to have him sent away again, I will drag you back to court for sending him away without my leave. Is that clear?”

If looks could kill, Castiel was sure he would be dead on the floor. “Crystal, Castiel,” Crowley snapped. “And I will not consent to have him thrown back into the cesspool of public education. Quite an impasse, isn’t it?”

Castiel shrugged. “If you are willing to foot the bill for him to attend private school, by all means, do so—provided it is not a sex segregated institution, is not a boarding school, and has no political or social leanings. I will need to approve your choice. In the meantime, Samandriel is not going back to that den of inequity you call a school. I’m sure you will not protest a week or two of public education while you find a private institution we can both agree upon.”

Crowley glowered at him. “Try Carver Edlund grade school,” he snapped. “Ms. Talbot, be a darling and pull up their website, will you?”

Bela smiled and reached into her briefcase, pulling out a sleek, shiny laptop. Manicured fingers flew across the keys, and she passed the computer to Castiel. “Will this be a suitable compromise, Mr. MacLeod?” she asked coolly.

Castiel skimmed the school’s website, making note of its programs and specialties. “This seems acceptable,” he said finally, passing her laptop back. “I will call and schedule an interview. If he is accepted, I will direct their financial office to you for payment.”

“Very well,” Crowley replied snippily. “Are we done here?”

“Yes, I think so.” Castiel rose, stretching his legs with a relieved sigh. His back was beginning to ache from sitting so much. It would be nice to get back to Dean’s house and lie down. “I will see you in three weeks, when I drop Samandriel off at your house.” With any luck, he would not have to see Crowley for more than a moment.

Crowley said nothing, which Castiel took as a triumph. He led the way out of the courtroom, where Samandriel waited with the school official. “Sam, are you all right with driving us back to Dean’s place?” Castiel asked, reaching for his son’s hand.

“Sure.” Sam fixed Samandriel with a smile. “Hi, there. I’m Castiel’s lawyer, Sam. He’s told me a lot about you.”

Samandriel stared at him for a moment before dropping his head, folding his hands demurely in front of him. Castiel swallowed his rage; he had not realized exactly how early the schools began teaching Omegas to be submissive before Alphas. “Sam’s very nice, Samandriel,” Castiel said softly, laying a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m living with his brother, Dean. We’re going back to his house, and Dean’s going to treat us all to pizza, all right?”

“Does Dean know this?” Sam asked teasingly.

“Not yet.” Castiel sighed. It had only been a few months; there was plenty of time to undo the damage that had been wrought upon his son. “Come on, Samandriel. Let’s get you home.”


	16. Of Feelings and Chick Flicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns home to find that Castiel has been granted custody of his children; he and Cas talk about their future. With their plans to continue to live together, Dean decides he owes it to Sam to tell him the exact nature of his relationship with Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings, feelings, chick flick moments, and feelings. Dean would probably whap me upside the head for this chapter if he were real (actually he'd have probably ganked me about the time I put up the chapter about Alastair. Ah well.)
> 
> Okay, this is a point where I turn to my readers for opinion time! I know how this story ends--that is fixed and unchangeable, but there are two paths I can take to get there. One of them is much darker than the other. Pros to that path are that it is longer, and thus has more story and chapters than the light one, and we get to see some good old Badasstiel (I am NOT sorry for that epithet) and get some more screen time with Kevin. Cons are... It's the dark path for a reason, and that is all I am saying. Then there is the light path, which is shorter and fluffier (though still not completely composed of domestic bliss) and less likely to rip my heart out as I write it. Obviously, I'm going to choose whichever one I deem best in the end, but at this point I honestly do not know, and hence I turn to you guys to help me make the final decision. My beta reader has already put in his advocacy for the dark path, but you, my lovely readers, should give me your input.

It was hard to concentrate on his work with Castiel away at the custody hearing. Dean was irritable and snappish, yelling at Gordon for misplacing the toolbox and sniping at Jo whenever she tried to ask him what was wrong—not that she would phrase it so nicely. Part of him was glad that Bobby had the day off; his employer would never stand for his attitude.

Finally, he hit eight hours and could clock out. Dean practically threw his toolbox into its cubby and sped to the lockers, grabbing his spare clothes and changing without bothering to so much as wipe his face. His m—Cas, Cas was waiting for him at home, and regardless of the outcome of the custody trial, Dean needed to be there. Whether it was to comfort his partner or to celebrate, every fiber of his being itched to be with Cas.

The drive home had never seemed longer. Sam’s car was parked out front, which was good. That meant he and Castiel, and hopefully Samandriel, were inside. Dean hardly paused to lock the Impala before sprinting to the front door and flinging it open. “Cas!” he shouted, stumbling over the threshold.

Cas poked his head out from the kitchen, his face split with a broad, goofy grin. “Hello, Dean,” he greeted him cheerfully. Dean slumped in relief as he turned his eyes from his partner’s face to the row of shoes lining up by the door. One pair was notably smaller than all the others—a child’s set of shoes.

“You won, then?” Dean asked, beaming at the blissful look in Castiel’s eyes.

“Yes, and it was beautiful,” Castiel replied, gesturing him forward. “Come on. I want you to meet my son.”

Dean grinned, shucking off his shoes and jacket on the way to the kitchen. Sam sat at the table with a small, slender blond child, huddled over a pair of coloring books. “Hey Dean!” he said with a grin.

“Samandriel, this is Dean. We’re going to be staying with him,” Castiel said, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean swallowed the urge to kiss Castiel—not around Sam, and not around the child—electing instead to give him a short squeeze, before stepping back to smile at the child. The kid raised his tiny hand in a wave, fist still wrapped around a green crayon.

“Hi,” Samandriel said, smiling shyly.

“Hey there, squirt,” Dean grinned, flopping down in a chair. “What’re you coloring?”

“Trucks!” Samandriel answered happily. “Your brother’s really bad at staying in the lines.”

“Well, excuse me! It’s been a long time since I colored anything,” Sam exclaimed, winking at Dean. “All right, now that the little brother’s here, let’s order some pizza!”

“We’re ordering pizza?” Dean asked, reaching across the table to steal Sam’s coloring book. “Jesus, Samandriel wasn’t kidding,” he chuckled, glancing down at the open page. He sincerely hoped Sam was coloring badly on purpose to make the kid feel better; he still was never going to let his brother forget about this.

“Yes, we're ordering pizza. That is to say, you are,” Castiel responded with a grin. “Surprise!”

Dean blinked. “Well, thanks for the heads up, Cas!” He shook his head. “Fine, I get paid tomorrow so I guess I can spring for pizza. What do you guys want?”

The lighthearted air to the room filled Dean with warmth as they colored and bickered about nothing. The pizza arrived and Dean stuffed himself, teasing Castiel about how delivery food had nothing on his cooking. Here, in the kitchen with his brother, his partner, and his partner’s son, the tension that had filled the house for the past several days seemed to melt away. Finally, Sam left and Castiel put Samandriel to bed on the couch while Dean deposited the pizza boxes and paper plates in the garbage can, whistling to himself. It was a great way to end a stressful day.

Castiel came up behind Dean as he was wiping down the table. Strong arms circled Dean’s waist, and he leaned back into the hold, careful of the growing bump of Castiel’s stomach. “Is Samandriel asleep?” he asked, turning his head so he could peck Castiel on the cheek.

“Not yet,” Cas answered, nuzzling his shoulder. “I guess we’re going to have to start being discreet now.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s worth it, though,” he replied, tossing the washcloth in the general direction of the kitchen sink. He turned, wrapping his arms around his lover and squeezing lightly. “So, it seems like this is going to be a long-term set up, huh?”

Castiel nodded. “That’s the plan,” he replied, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Dean’s lips.

Dean smiled, rubbing his hand fondly across Castiel’s back. “Then I guess we’d better start thinking about making some additions to the house, huh?” he asked, mentally working through the cost that it would take to add an extra bedroom.

“Additions?” Castiel asked.

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. “You are planning to stay here, right?” Maybe he was wrong about Castiel’s intentions. Castiel might want to get his own place, now that he had a job and had secured custody of his children.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Castiel confessed, his brow furrowing slightly. “Do… Do you want me to stay?”

A bark of disbelieving laughter caught in Dean’s throat. “Seriously, Cas, you have to ask?” he demanded, incredulous. “Of course I want you to stay, if that’s something you want as well! I was thinking about having a second bedroom built onto the house for the kids, and maybe adding your name to the mortgage if you’re interested. I’d take care of the payments, of course, but it would give you a legal address, and you could stop worrying about being a burden.” He grinned as Castiel opened his mouth, speechless.

“How did I find someone like you?” Castiel asked finally, fisting his hands in Dean’s shirt. “I—yes. Yes, if you’ll have me, I’d love to stay.”

Dean grinned, placing a gentle kiss to his lover’s forehead. “Good,” he said cheerfully. “We can figure the rest out in the morning. For now, I think I’d like to go to bed.”

“It’s not even nine,” Castiel protested.

Dean arched an eyebrow, smirking at the other man. “Oh,” Castiel realized, flushing slightly. “We’ll have to be quiet, with Samandriel in the living room.”

“I think I can manage that,” Dean responded cheekily. “C’mon, Cas.” He drew back, cupping the man’s face with a single hand, reveling in the feel of day-old stubble over otherwise smooth skin. “Let’s end this day on the best note possible.

0o0o0o0o0

Adding Castiel to the mortgage required jumping through more hoops than Dean would have expected, and putting in an additional bedroom and bathroom threatened to bleed Dean’s savings account dry. It was wholly worth it for the small smile that crossed Castiel’s face every time he referred to Dean’s house as his own, and the day they were able to move Samandriel from the couch to his own bedroom was one that Dean would commit to memory as a good day, right alongside Sam’s graduation from law school and the day Castiel’s divorce went through.

It was after much deliberation that Dean and Castiel decided they had to stop keeping their relationship secret from those closest to them. Keeping it hidden from Samandriel had proven to be impossible; the child saw more than Dean would have expected from his minimal experience with children, and the day the child had asked if Castiel was going to marry Dean, they had known that the jig was up. A six year old might not care about society’s conventions, but if the nature of their relationship was obvious to a child, who knew who else might pick up on it? Dean and Castiel had agreed that it would be best for Dean to talk to Sam himself, and on a night when Castiel was scheduled late at the bar, Dean decided that it was time to come clean to his brother.

Dean could not remember ever actively dreading a visit from Sam, but when the doorbell rang, it took all his willpower to not bolt out the nearest window. He gulped. Samandriel was spending his monthly week with Crowley, and Castiel was at work. There would be no better time to have this conversation with Sam. Maybe he was worrying too much. Maybe Sam would keep an open mind. Or maybe he would call Dean a freak and accuse him of—Dean cut his thoughts short before they could take a dark turn.

“Hi, Dean!” Oblivious to the turmoil in Dean’s head, Sam bounded through the door, every inch the overeager, excited puppy of a man. “You’ll never guess what. Kevin went in for an ultrasound today. Twins, Dean! Twin girls! Can you believe it?”

“That—” Dean swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat. “That’s great, Sammy.”

“It’s kind of surreal,” Sam continued, kicking off his shoes and grinning at Dean. “I can’t believe I’m about to be a father. It feels like I just graduated college, and suddenly adulthood. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dean agreed, forcing a shaky smile to his lips. “Want a drink?”

Dean’s heart pounded, seemingly trying to escape his chest as he and Sam sat around the table. He sipped his beer as Sam prattled on, talking about names and baby showers and all sorts of things that Dean would probably like to hear about under any other circumstances. He could not decide if he was grateful that his brother was talking, stalling the conversation, or if he just wanted to get it over with.

“So,” Sam said finally, taking a swig of his beer. “You said you have something you need to talk to me about?”

“Yeah,” Dean said shakily. God, this was a bad idea. Dean Winchester did not _do_ emotional conversations and chick flick moments, and this had all the makings of the worst chick flick he’d ever seen, except that it was very real and had the potential to go very badly. “I… What do you think about Cas?” _That’s right, Winchester. Put off the important part of the conversation. Stall for time and get your head together._

God, he couldn’t do this!

Sam frowned. “What do you mean, what do I think of Cas?” he asked curiously. “I like him. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Stupid question.” Dean fidgeted, drumming his fingers with nervous energy. “I mean, would it, um, freak you out if I told you I was involved with him?”

Sam blinked. “Dean, you took him into your house months ago and you’ve been living with him ever since. I’d say it’s pretty clear that you’re involved with him. You’re not exactly standoffish roommates.”

“That’s not what I mean.” What idiot had decided that this conversation was a good idea? Oh, right, he and Cas had. “I mean I’m _involved_ with him.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t think I follow,” he said slowly.

Dean winced, rubbing his eyes. “I’m in a relationship with Cas.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, fast and slurred together. “A legitimate, actual relationship. Like hugging and kissing and making life plans and, you know, other stuff.” Shit. He’d said it, and there was no taking it back. Dean gulped, clenching his hand around his beer as he took a long gulp, draining the last drops of alcohol from the bottle.

“A relationship.” Sam’s voice was flat, emotionless. At least he wasn’t screaming. “As in a sexual relationship, like with a mated pair.”

“Yeah.” Would it be inappropriate to get up and get another beer? Damnit, this was his house, he’d get another drink if he wanted one. Dean rose, inching over to the fridge and grabbing another bottle, cracking it open with his teeth before sitting back down.

“But—” Sam shook his head, trying to make sense of Dean’s words. “But you’re both Omegas.”

“Yep.”

“How does that—how can that possibly even work?” Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged. “Same as with any other pair. One person sticks his—”

“Okay, okay!” Sam shook his head as though to clear the image from his brain. “Okay. Just—Dean, that’s really, really… Well, that’s not normal.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean took a long drink. “Why do you think I called you over to make a big production out of telling you instead of letting it slip out over the phone?”

Sam stared at him, his face equal parts confused and worried. Still, he did not seem disgusted, so Dean supposed he’d have to take that as a good thing. “Dean, why do you want to date an Omega?” Sam asked finally. “Wouldn’t you be, you know, happier with an Alpha or a Beta?”

Dean sighed. “Sammy, I never liked Alphas or Betas that way,” he responded slowly. “Ever. I was always interested in Omegas, I just never did anything because I thought I was the only one. But I’m not, and… And I’m happy.”Wow, this was almost more syrup than sap. He should make pancakes, if the conversation continued down this route.

Sam sighed. “Don’t get mad at me for this,” he began. “Are you sure you’re really interested in Omegas, and they don’t just seem safer?”

“What, are you asking if I’m interested in Omegas because I was traumatized by Alastair?” From the way Sam flinched, that was exactly what his brother was asking. “You know, I wondered about that for a while because it was the easiest explanation, but fact is, I first got involved with that raging asshole because I thought dating an Alpha might make me interested in them. I always liked Omegas, Sam. Before Alastair. Hell, as early as my first heat I knew I didn’t want an Alpha or a Beta.”

Sam rested his elbows tiredly on the table. “It just doesn’t make sense to me, Dean,” he said finally. “There’s no endgame to two Omegas dating. It wouldn’t _go_ anywhere.”

“Because we can’t have kids?” Dean asked.

“I guess,” Sam replied, resting his chin in his hand.

Dean nodded. “Sam, would you still love Kevin if he was infertile?” he queried.

“What?” Sam shot him a wounded look. “Of course I would!”

Dean took a long drink, hoping that his brother would work through the connection before he had to say anything. As far as he was concerned, this conversation had gone on for much too long; any minute, violins were going to start playing moving music and he was going to break into a heartfelt speech about love and destiny or something else that would make him want to stab himself with a fork.

“Oh,” Sam said, and Dean sagged in relief. “Oh. I get what you’re saying.” His brother sat up straight, reaching absently for his beer bottle. “When you put it that way, it makes sense. Right. You don’t need an endgame if you love the person. Got it.” He took a long drink, surveying Dean curiously. “I guess I can’t blame you. I get the appeal of an attractive Omega.”

“Yeah, I know you do. The way you won’t shut up about knocking up your husband and all,” Dean grumbled, but there was no real discontent in his words. Sam accepted him—or at least, it did not seem like his brother was going to actively reject him.

“Hey, I thought you were excited to be an uncle!” Sam protested.

“I am, but dude, you are obsessed.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Can you blame me?” He quieted after a moment. “I guess I’m never going to be an uncle, huh? I mean, not unless Adam has kids, but I still don’t really know him, so it doesn’t count.”

Dean shrugged at the mention of their half-brother, basically a stranger to them all their lives. “Maybe not biologically, but Cas has Samandriel, and he's got another kid on the way. It’s close enough, right? I mean, shit, Samandriel keeps asking Cas if he can call me ‘Dad.’”

Sam nodded. “I guess so.” He stared absently at his nearly empty beer. “Thanks for telling me, Dean. It’s a lot to take in, but I guess I’m glad you trusted me enough.”

“Of course, bitch,” Dean replied. Okay. He could do this. Sam knew—objective accomplished. “So, how about we cut the chick flick moments and eat hamburgers until we go into a food coma?”

“Always hamburgers with you, Dean. You’re going to have a heart attack by forty,” Sam teased, smiling at him.

“Yeah, well, I’ll die happy and full, which I wouldn’t if I lived off rabbit food,” Dean shot back.

Sam hadn’t rejected him for his revelation, Castiel would be home in a few hours, and Samandriel was due back from Crowley’s the next day. Dean could live with this. Maybe—just maybe—his life was going to fall into place without mishap. As far as Dean was concerned, this had been a long time in coming.


	17. Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel goes into labor a month before his due date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are some delightfully twisted people. Almost all the people who left their input expressed a preference for the dark path, and at this point it looks like that's the one I'm going to take. For everyone who voted for a light path or a mix of the two--don't fret. There will still be fluff and marshmallows and happiness--I promise!
> 
> Whoo boy, this chapter. If I could go back in time and show this to the me of six months ago, who hated mpreg with a fiery passion... But it's been written nonetheless, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Fluff and happiness. See, like I said, I will not COMPLETELY deprive you of it!

Navigating the bar was tricky, what with his swollen stomach threatening to knock over glasses with every movement. Castiel moved as quickly as he could without breaking anything, mixing drinks and refreshing beers and shouting food orders back into the kitchen. Just another Saturday night at Roadhouse. At least he was well paid; Ellen had bumped his wage up to eleven dollars per hour when Castiel had brought in his new class schedule, showing that he had signed up for a spring accounting class at the local community college.

Pour drinks and pass out food, chat with customers and cut them off when they got drunk enough to start hitting on him. It was a tough grind, but not so overwhelming that he could not deal with it. Castiel slid a tray of purple nurples to the cheerful Beta in front of him and printed out a receipt for the Alpha and his girlfriend a few seats down. A plastered Alpha slipped him her number as he walked by; Castiel pocketed the scrap of paper, destined for the trash can as soon as the activity in the bar wound down.

The bar closed at two in the morning, and as the last patrons trickled out, Castiel slumped in relief. He was tired, exhausted as though he had run a double shift. A sharp pain in his stomach rattled his bones as the baby inside him kicked. Wincing, Castiel stood, smoothing his hands over the swollen bulge. “Quiet down for a few hours, won’t you?” he muttered with half-felt irritation. The baby had been unusually active tonight; he hoped it would not keep him awake.

Ellen walked out of the kitchen, wiping sweaty, grease-covered hands on her apron. “Place is pretty clean, considering,” she remarked, her sharp eyes sweeping over the bar. “Just wipe down the tables and the bar, and you can go home. Do you need a ride?”

Castiel hesitated. Dean was working a morning shift, and Castiel was loathe to wake him, but it was only a few blocks walk from the bar to Dean’s neighborhood. “I can walk,” he responded, wincing as the baby kicked hard again. Samandriel’s movements had never caused him pain.

Ellen nodded. “All right. Close up behind you,” she ordered, tossing her apron under the bar.

Wiping down the surfaces took only a few minutes. Castiel threw the rag into the kitchen sink and locked the doors behind him, inhaling the sharp, cold December air gratefully. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets as he walked, his feet crunching softly over a thin layer of snow.

Castiel doubled over as a cramp spasmed through his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. “Stop that,” he muttered, clutching his stomach and panting. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

The baby kicked hard in response. Castiel grimaced as he straightened, biting his lip and picking up the pace. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, he made it to Dean’s neighborhood before a cramp seized his stomach again. “Damn,” he cursed, leaning against a street light. Taking a moment to breathe, he stared down the row of houses. A single light glimmered in the living room of Dean’s house—his house. Dean always insisted on leaving a light on until he got home—a sweet sentiment, but right now all Castiel could think of was the electric bill and how he should be contributing to it and _god_ would this baby not just go to sleep?

Perhaps the child was awake and active because he had yet to go to bed. Castiel pushed away from the lamppost and forced himself to begin walking again. One foot after the other. The crunch of snow beneath worn shoe soles, flying up and caking on the bottoms of his jeans. The living room light had been on when he first stumbled upon Dean’s house, nearly seven months ago. Had it really been seven months? It felt like yesterday, and like a lifetime ago. Dean should not have left the light on for him.

Castiel’s hands shook as he fumbled his key into the lock. The house was quiet—Dean was asleep, and Samandriel would not have to be up for school for another five hours. Castiel was glad that he had packed his son’s lunch before leaving for work; all he wanted was to collapse into bed and take some of the weight off his feet. He slipped out of his boots and staggered to the hall closet, sliding his winter jacket onto a hanger next to the old trench coat he had stolen from Crowley’s house. He tugged at the elastic band of his jeans as he stumbled into the living room to turn out the light, and crept through the dark to the bedroom.

Dean snored lightly, his sleep unbroken as Castiel slipped out of his clothes. Shivering slightly as cold air met his skin, Castiel dug through the cheap, cracked dresser Dean had bought him from a garage sale, pulling out one of the few pairs of sweat pants that still fit his pregnant frame and a huge novelty t-shirt Dean had bought him as a joke. A sharp pang shot through his abdomen as he stretched; a groan slid through his lips and he bent forward in an attempt to ease up on the pressure in his belly.

“Cas?” Dean’s groggy voice, heavy with sleep, met his ears, cutting through the pain. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied tersely. He tugged the shirt over his torso and fumbled his way towards the bed, collapsing with a groan. The wooden frame creaked loudly in protest at the sudden weight. “It’s just cramps.”

“Oh.” Dean’s arm snaked out, warm skin dragging against the soft cotton of Castiel’s shirt. “’M sorry.”

Castiel stiffened as another cramp shot through his body. This one refused to let up, twisting at his insides, squeezing him until he gasped. A pained moan slipped from his lips and he curled in on himself, clutching his stomach.

“Cas?” Sheets rustled as Dean sat up. A firm hand caressed his shoulder, the touch warm and soothing. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes—no,” Castiel panted. “It’ll pass.”

“Cas, is it—it’s not the baby, is it?” Dean asked, concerned.

“It won’t stop kicking, that’s all,” Castiel replied, gritting his teeth.

“You’re not going into labor, are you?”

Castiel groaned in relief as the cramp faded, fizzling out and leaving him tightly wound, but pain free for the moment. “I’ve got another month. Go to sleep.”

“Like hell.” Dean rose, shuffling over to the lamp. Soft, dim light illuminated his face, creased and furrowed with concern. “I’m calling Sam to keep an eye on Samandriel. You and I are going to the hospital.”

“That’s not necessary,” Castiel panted, uncurling slightly. “I’m fine—oh _god,”_ he groaned as the baby kicked and his abdomen tightened mercilessly.

“Yeah, it is.” Dean threw open the closet and grabbed a thick flannel shirt, pulling it on over his bare torso. “I’ve never seen you like this, not even when we were moving Samandriel’s bed in and you dropped it on your foot. This is not a play through the pain situation, Cas.”

Castiel burrowed his face in his pillow, listening dully as Dean called Sam. Sharp pangs needled at his insides, unrelenting in their discomfort. “Come on, sit up,” Dean ordered, sliding his hands under Castiel’s arms and tugging him off the bed. “Can you walk?”

“What part of ‘I’m fine’ aren’t you getting?” Castiel snapped, swaying on his feet. “Yes, I can walk.”

“Okay. Go get your shoes and jacket on.” Dean sighed, digging through his dresser for a pair of socks.

Castiel stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall. He fumbled his jacket off its hanger and stuffed his feet into his shoes before collapsing by the door. The light flickered on, and there was Dean, crouching beside him and pressing a mug of tepid water into his hands. “I’m going to get the car warmed up. Wait here for Sam, okay?”

Castiel groaned in response, pain zinging through his body. He wanted to lie down; he wanted to run; he wanted to tear Dean’s face off because he was there, and he was being so damn calm and reasonable when all Castiel wanted to do was sleep.

Dean returned from turning on the car, nearly hitting Castiel with the door as it swung open. “The floor can’t be comfortable,” the man murmured, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”

“You should be in bed,” Castiel muttered, leaning on Dean as he dragged his feet across the floor. “You’ve got work tomorrow.”

Silence met his ears, and for a moment Castiel worried that he had said something wrong. “You’re more important,” Dean said finally, arranging Castiel’s limbs so that he was on his side on the couch. “I’ll make some calls, get someone to cover my shift.”

“Don’t,” Castiel mumbled, shaking his head. “We need the money. Especially if I’m going to the hospital.”

Dean huffed. “At least let me call Ellen and let her know you might not be in for a few days.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, I’m—” he retched, stomach heaving, as the next cramp clenched at his insides.

Dean shook his head and pulled out his phone. “Ellen?” Castiel groaned—damnit, had Dean not heard a word he’d been saying? “Yes I know what time it is. Listen, Cas might have to take a few days off. I’m taking him to the hospital.”

The doorbell rang. Castiel moved to sit up, and Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “I think he’s in labor,” the man continued, rising and heading to the door. “I’ll call you when I know for sure, okay?”

Sam entered the room, tracking snow over the carpet, his brow furrowed with worry as he knelt beside Cas. “How are you feeling?” he asked, laying a hand across Castiel’s forehead.

“Like I’m going to murder your brother if he doesn’t hang up on my boss _right now!”_ Castiel shouted, craning his head to glare at Dean.

Dean ignored him, wishing Ellen goodnight and hanging up the phone. “Thanks for coming, Sam,” he said, shuffling awkwardly. “Are you good to get Samandriel to school if we’re not back by then?”

“Yep. I’ve got the address, so I can drive him. It starts at nine, right?”

“Can you both shut up, please?” Castiel growled, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Okay, okay. Come on, I’m gonna carry you to the car.”

“I can—” Dean hoisted Castiel from the couch, grunting slightly at his weight. Castiel resolved to kill Dean as soon as the cramps passed. He wasn’t some wilting flower; he could walk, damnit!

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” Sam asked, bending down to unlace his boots.

“Yep.” Dean turned, and the world swayed with the motion. Castiel groaned, closing his eyes and allowing his partner to carry him out to the car.

The cramps seemed to be coming more frequently now. Castiel whimpered as something wet trickled down his thighs, his stomach seizing with the motion. “This can’t be labor, Dean,” he babbled, clutching his coat. “Not yet. I’ve got another month. God, we don’t even have a crib! I’m not ready!”

Dean shushed him, not taking his eyes off the road. “It’s okay, Cas,” he murmured soothingly. “We’ll take care of it. I need you to breathe, okay?”

“I know how to breathe,” Castiel snapped as his insides seized.

“Okay,” Dean replied calmly. “It’s okay. We’re almost there.”

Castiel groaned, shifting fitfully in the seat. “I’m not ready, Dean,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m supposed to have another month to get ready.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean took a hand off the steering wheel and laid it over Castiel’s, squeezing gently. “I know. But you’ll be okay. I promise.”

0o0o0o0o0

Panic shot through Dean’s chest as he helped Castiel out of the car. His partner was pale, so much paler than he had ever been, covered in sweat despite the chill in the air. He helped Castiel through the hospital doors and eased him into one of the seats, heading to the front desk to sign him in.

The emergency room was surprisingly quiet for the small hours on a Sunday morning. An ashen Omega sat several seats down from Cas, doubling over a bucket and groaning as she retched; a thin faced Beta, her sister by the looks of her, rubbed soothing circles across her back, glaring at the Alpha across from them whenever his sidelong glances seemed too interested. A bruised Alpha, favoring a broken arm, leaned across the seats to whisper something to Cas. From the looks of it, whatever she said was not particularly untoward, but Dean still had to bite down a possessive growl. It was times like this when he truly wished he were an Alpha or a Beta—someone whose presence with a pregnant Omega would be seen as more than just friendly.

“Castiel?” A friendly looking nurse poked her head into the waiting room. “Come on back.”

Dean helped Cas to his feet, supporting most of his weight as his partner staggered down the hall. The nurse was all business, directing Castiel into a room full of ultrasound equipment. “I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside,” she said to Dean as they helped Castiel into the hospital bed. “We’ll send someone for you as soon as we know what’s going on, all right?”

It wasn’t all right. For all intents and purposes, Dean was Castiel’s _mate._ He should be there for him, holding his hand through anything that came, not sitting outside in the waiting room like he was no more than Castiel’s ride. Still, he doubted that arguing with the nurse would do him any good. With a last reassuring squeeze to Castiel’s hand, he exited the room and made his way back to the hard, unappealing hospital chairs.

Several minutes passed before the nurse came back to the waiting room. “Well, like you thought, your roommate’s in labor,” she told Dean briskly, all business. “Is there anyone we should call? A mate, or a family member?”

Dean groaned. “I think his ex was supposed to be informed when he went into labor,” he grumbled. It wasn’t fair that Crowley would be called, hell would probably be let into the room before Dean, while he sat around with his thumbs up his ass.

“Okay. Do you have the number?”

Dean shook his head. “Cas probably does,” he replied reluctantly.

The nurse hummed thoughtfully. “Well, we’ll go ask him. You can go home if you like, mister…”

“Winchester,” Dean replied tersely. “And I’m not leaving until he’s had the kid and is stable.”

The nurse nodded sympathetically. “I can’t let you in the room, you know,” she warned him. “That’s reserved for family and the father of the child. You’ll have to wait here.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but there wasn’t much else he could do. “Just let me know if anything happens, okay?”

The nurse nodded and left, leaving Dean alone in the room. Nurses came and went, calling back patients. In one frighteningly memorable case, orderlies wheeled in a teenage Alpha on a stretcher, the bandages around his wrists stained dark with blood. They did not wait for a nurse with that one; Dean shuddered and looked away. He had never liked hospitals, and staying in the waiting room was torture. He did not want to know what sorts of awful things had happened to the people who came through the emergency room. He just wanted to be sure that Cas was okay.

The hours ticked by slowly. Dean called his coworkers, and was finally able to arrange for Kubrick to cover his shift. Dean had never liked the man, finding him to be too much of a dogmatic asshole, but at least he was willing to give up his day off when Dean needed it. Work taken care of, he settled into an uneasy doze, the hard plastic chair digging into his back and keeping him from drifting off completely.

Sam texted him to let him know that Samandriel had gotten to school just fine. Dean went to the hospital kitchen to grab a cup of mediocre coffee and a dry, tasteless bagel. He read through all the magazines that interested him, and even the cheesy gossip rags that gave him a headache.

Still the nurses did not come with news about Castiel.

The sun was beginning to set outside when the nurse finally came back to the waiting room, interrupting Dean’s date with over-salted hospital soup. “Your roommate’s fine,” she told Dean, “and so is the baby.” Dean sagged back, relieved. “He’s asking for you. You can go see him now.”

Soup forgotten, Dean leapt to his feet and followed the nurse down the hall. The woman opened the door and nodded at him; swallowing hard, Dean screwed up his nerve and walked into the room.

Castiel was pale and drawn, dark circles mottling the skin under his eyes, a layer of dried sweat sticking to his skin. In his arms, a wrinkled, tiny baby slept, snuggled up against his chest. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled a chair from the corner, settling down beside his lover.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, offering him a tired smile. “Good news. He’s healthy, despite being early.”

Dean shuddered, grinning at the sight of his partner and that tiny, red form. “Good,” he replied, clearing his throat awkwardly. “So… It’s a baby.”

The corners of Castiel’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Yes, Dean, it’s a baby,” he responded. “Did you think I was going to give birth to some hellspawn from the deep?”

“Beats me.” Dean chuckled, craning his neck to get a better look at the sleeping child. “Wow, he’s tiny.”

“Newborns usually are,” Castiel informed him dryly. “And he was early.”

Dean nodded, turning his gaze back to Castiel. “So, how long are you going to be here?” he asked.

“Probably a few days, just to make sure there are no complications.” Castiel smiled fondly at the sleeping child, and then turned his gaze to Dean. “What should we call him?”

“I—” Dean blinked, momentarily stunned. “That’s kind of your decision, isn’t it?”

Castiel fixed him with serious, unblinking eyes. “Well, since I’m hoping you’ll stick around to help raise him, it seems prudent to give you some input.”

Dean swallowed hard. No, he would not get emotional, and those were certainly _not_ tears welling up in his eyes. “Wow, Cas,” he murmured, rubbing his face because it itched, definitely not because he wanted to get rid of tears before they fell. “That’s—that means a lot.” Shakily, he offered his partner a smile. “You have any thoughts?”

Castiel smiled. “I was thinking about calling him Ben,” he said seriously. “It might seem foolish, but I had this idea that naming him after Benny might be a fitting tribute, since he’s the one who brought me to you.”

It had all the makings of a chick flick moment; it shouldn’t be so touching. But it was, and Dean ducked his head to hide the giddy expression that seemed determined to fix itself on his face. “I like it,” he said, reaching out to caress Castiel’s face.

“Ben it is, then.” Castiel sighed contentedly. “Court says Crowley and I have to agree on a name, but he hasn’t shown up and they’ve left me with the birth certificate paper. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’ll just fill it out, and he can suck it up and like it.”

Dean nodded. “Good plan,” he said, letting his hand rest on Castiel’s shoulder as he turned his eyes to the sleeping infant. “Hi there,” he crooned, softly enough to not wake the child. “Welcome to the family, Ben.”


	18. A Controlled Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel goes into heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do I do instead of homework? Write fanfiction. I have two essays due tomorrow and instead of working on them I've written this chapter, the next one, and part of the one after that. It's a curse, I tell you. Oh well. Have another chapter much too early. You're welcome!
> 
> Anyways, I love you all and I promised several people smut. So, here, I wrote you smut. Also fluff. Cherish the fluff well, dear readers.
> 
> I have the rough final number of chapters listed above. It could be more; it's doubtful that it will be less. I will change it if needed!

Castiel brought Ben home to a brand new crib, a house stocked full of baby clothes and supplies, and a room full of everyone Dean could rustle up on such short notice for a surprise belated baby shower. Castiel was not surprised to see Sam and Kevin, but when Charlie, Jo, Meg, Benny, and Gabriel burst out of the kitchen yelling their congratulations, it was all he could do to not tear up. Hugs and presents were exchanged, Benny whipped up an impromptu Cajun style grill, and Samandriel ran around underfoot, beaming with all the pride that came from being a big brother, demanding that Castiel let him hold Ben himself.

The results of Ben’s sex came in the mail a week later. He was a Beta, and though he was no longer compressed and constricted under Crowley’s roof, Castiel could not help but feel relief. Hard as the world could be on Omegas, Castiel was glad that at least one of his children would not have to put up with society’s prejudiced assumptions.

At Dean’s advice, Castiel made an appointment with the doctor and started birth control for the first time in his life. With two small children in a house of Omega adults, it would be unwise for Castiel to not have full control over his heats. If he unexpectedly went into heat at the same time as Dean, who would keep an eye on Ben and Samandriel? Even during a rut, Alphas had enough control to care for a crying infant, but heated Omegas were not so lucky. This way, at least one of the two adults in the house would be capable of caring for Ben and Samandriel at all times.

Two months after giving birth, Castiel swallowed the last pill in his pack, the one that would trigger his hormones and trick his body into false ovulation. Dean would be home before his body registered the trigger, and Castiel had already called ahead to request the day off of work. With all the preparations made, Castiel set to work making dinner and pre-packing Samandriel’s school lunch, just in case Dean forgot. He doubted that he would be up to eating tonight, but the rest of his family should not go hungry just because of his heat.

The first warning tremors had hit—increased body temperature and shaking—by the time Dean returned home. Castiel offered his lover a perfunctory kiss before retiring to the bedroom. The house and the kids were in Dean’s hands now; he had an hour or so before he devolved into a shaking, needy mess.

With the ease of long practice, Castiel stripped out of his clothing before it could become too hot and tight around his body. Naked, he lay back on the bed, stroking his slowly hardening erection with one hand, determined to get ahead of the waves of need and animalistic longing that accompanied heat. A dribble of slick rolled down his leg; he bit his lip and stroked faster, his skin dragging slightly over his unlubricated erection, the friction burning, just on the edge of uncomfortable. A low groan choked out of his throat at the sensation. With shaking hands, Castiel slid a hand down his side to his ass, slipping in a finger to catch some of his slick before it could hit the bed, wasted. He gasped at the sensation, sliding in a second finger and working his hand, the stretch pleasurable but not enough, never enough, never hitting deep enough to sate him when he got like this.

Trembling, Castiel withdrew his slick-coated hand and smeared the thick liquid over his erection, moaning softly as pleasure sparked in his lower abdomen. Panting, he stroked himself, a wave of desire and crushing _need_ crashing over him. He needed Dean. His partner was right there, just a room away, and Castiel needed him, but he would have to wait. His free hand wandered, brushing at his entrance with long, slender fingers as he fisted his erection. Two fingers, then three, pumping desperately as he stroked himself. It wasn’t enough.

A frustrated whine built up in Castiel’s throat as he fucked himself on his fingers, thrusting into his fist. Slick dripped from his ass onto the bed, soaking the sheets, filling the room with the stink of his pheromones. He threw his head back and moaned, twisting his fingers desperately. Heat coiled and burned in his belly, seeking release, and if he could just get a bit deeper maybe he could get there on his own, but it wasn’t enough. Castiel slipped in a fourth finger, inhaling sharply at the burn, the stretch, completely insufficient. It would never be enough when his lover was just a few rooms away, his sweet scent wafting through the closed door, tormenting Castiel with his nearness.

Castiel jerked as the least satisfying orgasm of his life ripped through his body. He groaned, come spurting over his hand and onto his chest, a pitiful reprieve from his consuming desire. He slumped back against the pillows, crooking the fingers still lodged in his passage. His cock twitched, already seeking a second round, perking up at the stimulation. Castiel had nearly forgotten how impossibly fast heated recovery time was. He groaned, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep for the time being. Soon enough the kids would be in bed and Dean would come to work him through his heat. He had to be patient.

Patience was not a virtue easily claimed during heat. Castiel had masturbated himself through three orgasms before the creak of floorboards caught his ears, signaling Dean’s presence. Dean slipped through the door, and Castiel moaned at the sight of him. “Dean,” he panted, his swollen cock twitching as he stared at his lover. “Need you.”

Dean’s lips quirked as his eyes raked over Castiel’s body, flushed and covered in sweat and come. “I can see that,” he murmured, pulling his shirt over his head. “Poor Cas. Did I leave you wanting?”

Castiel growled, low and desperate. “Don’t tease.”

Dean chuckled, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the fabric over his hips, letting it pool on the floor. “I’m not teasing, baby,” he promised, running a finger under the waistband of his striped boxers before pushing them down his legs. His erection sprang free of its confines, hanging low and heavy, flushed an angry, needy red. “Lie back, Cas. Let me take care of you.”

Castiel obeyed, his head spinning with want and need and desire and Dean, Dean walking towards the bed, his eyes blown with unbridled lust. The old wooden bedframe creaked slightly as Dean settled himself, kneeling between Castiel’s legs. Gently, Dean wrapped a hand around Castiel’s wrist, easing his hand away from his ass. Castiel whined at the loss, thrusting desperately into the air. Dean grinned wickedly, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Castiel’s chest, his lips trailing lower and lower across Castiel’s torso. Castiel moaned, his back arching desperately as Dean dragged his tongue, slow and deliberate, across Castiel’s cockhead, one of his hands reaching out to fondle Castiel’s balls. He released Castiel’s wrist, trailing his fingers up Castiel’s arm and down his side, igniting streaks of fire through Castiel’s body where their skin connected.

Dean slid a finger into Castiel’s passage, and he thought he would explode from the touch alone. Castiel cried out, his hips thrusting up as Dean covered him with his mouth, swallowing his cock as he pushed a second finger into him. Dean ran a finger across Castiel’s sack, shushing him, and thrust up gently with his fingers. Castiel bucked, his cock nudging the back of Dean’s throat. Coughing, his partner drew back; cool air brushed Castiel’s erection, and he whined at the loss of Dean’s mouth.

“Jesus, Cas, warn a guy,” Dean teased, flicking his tongue to catch a droplet of precum before it could roll from Castiel’s cockhead onto his stomach. Gently, he withdrew his hand from Castiel’s balls, holding his hips down firmly as he ducked back down to swallow Castiel whole.

Dean’s mouth, Dean’s fingers, _Dean_ —it was too much. Castiel’s entire body seized as he came, spurting come down Dean’s throat, his orgasm wringing the energy from his veins. He sagged back, trembling, exhaustion coursing through his pleasure-drunk body. “Dean,” he mumbled, reaching out with a shaking hand to caress his lover’s face. Dean looked up, fire burning in his bright green eyes, a trail of Castiel’s come rolling obscenely down his chin.

“God, Cas,” Dean whispered, crawling up the bed and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. “If you could see yourself…”

Castiel hummed, his body at war with itself. Exhaustion and desire battled in him. Any other night, he was sure he would have passed out from the intensity of his orgasm, but the heat that rolled through him kept him awake, strung out and on edge, begging for another round.

Dean seemed to notice his predicament. “On your side,” he ordered. Castiel obeyed, rolling over with a groan. Gently, Dean lifted his leg and slotted himself between Castiel’s ass cheeks. “Looks like you’ve got another in you,” he teased, the head of his erection poking at Castiel’s entrance.

“Put up or shut up,” Castiel mumbled, leaning his head back, nestling against Dean’s throat.

Dean laughed and pushed into Castiel’s loose hole, well fucked open with fingers and still oozing slick. Castiel groaned at the sensation, relaxing and allowing Dean to set a slow, languid pace. Dean wrapped a strong arm around him, pulling him close and rocking against him. “You with me, Cas?”

“Yeah,” Castiel mumbled, groaning as his over-sensitized cock hardened. “Need more.”

Dean kissed the top of his head and slid his hand down Castiel’s torso, wrapping his fist around Castiel’s hard, sensitive cock. A bite of pain twined with pleasure and Castiel groaned, rocking back against Dean. Dean responded with a moan of his own, pressing his chest to Castiel’s back as he rutted against him.

Castiel’s orgasm spilled from him with less intensity this time, coating Dean’s hand with sticky liquid. Dean shuddered and moaned, spilling into him, his thrusts slowing and finally stilling. Castiel sighed, sated for the moment, and turned his head slightly to rub his cheek against Dean’s chin.

“Get some rest,” Dean murmured, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. “I get the feeling I’m gonna be spending all of tomorrow in bed with you, huh?”

“Sounds good,” Castiel replied groggily, heavy eyelids closing before he even registered the motion. “G’night, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, nuzzling the back of his head. “Night, Cas.”

0o0o0o0o0

They greeted the morning with a bout of hard, furious sex, Castiel rutting and moaning against Dean as he held him pinned to the bed, coaxing several orgasms out of the heated Omega before coming once. Dean left their bed for several hours to get Samandriel off to school and take care of Ben, returning to the room at about noon to swallow Castiel down in the most intense blowjob he had ever received, heated or not. By the time Samandriel came home from school, the waves of need coursing through Castiel had died down enough that he could leave the room to greet his son and get his own water. Dean sat on the couch with Ben, reading to him from one of Samandriel’s precious chapter books, and Castiel thought that his heart would burst from the contentment that welled up in him.

There was only one blight on their day, and that was knowing that Crowley would be coming tomorrow to pick up Samandriel for his monthly visit. Ben was too young to leave Castiel for such an extended period, but that was a small comfort. Castiel hated the days when his son left, even knowing that he would be back within a week, and sometimes earlier if Crowley’s schedule did not permit a full length visit.

Still, there was nothing that he could do. They ate dinner as a family, and when Samandriel was sent to bed a few hours later, Castiel took advantage of the time he had alone with Dean to fuck his lover into the mattress.

They laid together when they were finished, limbs entwined around each other. Idly, Castiel traced a meaningless pattern over Dean’s chest, admiring the muscled swell of his mate’s pecs, the smooth, tanned skin. “You know, you’ve had me during my heat now,” he said quietly, smiling at the thought.

“Yeah, and it was awesome,” Dean replied, smirking lazily at him.

“I’ve had you during yours too.” Castiel returned the smile, squeezing the man lightly. “If one of us were an Alpha or a Beta, we’d be called a mated pair.”

“I guess we would.” Dean hummed, pulling him closer.

“I think we should be able to call ourselves that. Don’t you?”

Dean grinned, kissing him tenderly. “Yeah, I think so.” He lipped lightly at Castiel’s neck. “So you’re not going to freak out if I call you my mate?”

Castiel laughed softly. “It’s just a word, but I like the sound of it.” He sighed. “It’s a shame we can’t make it legal.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, legal or not, this is amazing. You’re amazing, Cas. I’m honored to have you as my mate.”

Castiel snuggled against Dean’s chest, taking deep, greedy breaths, inhaling his scent. “Good,” he responded, closing his eyes and waiting for sleep to overtake him.


	19. Bitter Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley discovers that Castiel and Dean have a relationship that extends beyond platonic friendship. Stunned and disgusted by this revelation, he searches for a way to enact revenge against his former mate and Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I mean, this chapter shouldn't surprise anyone, but still. I'm so sorry. (Wait, why am I apologizing? Bring on the darkness!)

Castiel was jerked from sleep a full hour before his alarm went off by the sound of a wail from the baby monitor. Groggily, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered down the dark hall to his sons’ room. Ben had woken Samandriel; his eldest glared sleepily at him from his bed. “Make him be quiet, Papa,” he ordered, burrowing under his blankets.

Castiel shook his head, leaning over the crib and lifting the infant up, cradling him in his arms. “Hey, there, what happened to sleeping through the night?” he asked softly, taking his son over to the bathroom. A diaper change was in order, and it wouldn’t hurt to feed him while he was up.

There was little point in going back to bed now that he was awake. Castiel set up the collapsible carry-pen in the kitchen and set to work making breakfast, glaring mutinously at the still dark sky outside. “Most people sleep in on Saturdays, you know,” he said conversationally, glancing at the infant. “Just you wait until you’re a teenager. Then I’ll be the one waking you up.”

Ben gurgled in response. Castiel laughed—that was the problem with babies, really. He couldn’t resent his son for waking him, even if it did mean he was cheated out of an hour of sleep. Neither Dean nor Samandriel should be up for a while, but he set the oven to a low heat and slipped a plate stacked high with finished pancakes into it to keep warm. Breakfast done and waiting, he picked up Ben and carried the infant out to the living room. “Want the news, or a book?” he asked, laughing as his son reached for his face. “Or you want my nose. That works.”

“Cas?” Dean poked his head into the living room, his eyes half closed and bleary with sleep. “Next time you get up to take care of Ben, want to try turning your alarm off?”

Castiel winced. “Sorry, Dean.”

“’S okay.” With a heavy sigh, Dean made his way over to the couch and sat next to Castiel. “How’s the rugrat?”

“Determined to get my face,” Castiel replied as Ben made another grab for his nose.

Dean smiled sleepily. “Well, it’s a nice face.”

Castiel laughed and swatted at his lover—his mate. It felt wonderful to think of him that way. “Go to bed, Dean.”

“Nah, I’m already up. Besides, it’s not fair that you keep being the one to get up when Ben starts crying. You’re allowed to kick me out of bed, you know.”

Castiel knew Dean meant it, but he had gotten used to being the sole caretaker of crying infants when Samandriel had first been born. In any case, he was still lactating, and Dean could not feed Ben if his cries were from hunger. It was easier to just get up himself, though he appreciated the offer. With a sigh, he adjusted himself so that he could lean back against Dean, closing his eyes contentedly.

Samandriel stumbled out of his room several minutes later, wide eyed and chipper despite all his earlier complaints about being woken by his younger brother. Breakfast was quick and filling, and between Dean and Samandriel, Castiel allowed himself to be coaxed into a round of Saturday morning cartoons. Dean claimed that he was just supporting the kid in his interests, but from the way he watched the brightly animated figures, enraptured, Castiel decided to add ‘still watches children’s television’ to his growing list of things to tease Dean about.

Castiel expected the knock on the door, but his stomach still clenched when it finally came. “Come on, Samandriel,” he said quietly, turning off the television.

“But I don’t want to stay with father,” Samandriel protested, reluctantly getting to his feet. “I want to stay here with you and Daddy.”

Castiel sighed. “It’s just for a week. Come on.”

One thing he had always hated was that Crowley insisted on coming to pick Samandriel up in person, and that Castiel come to his house to retrieve his son. No meeting in neutral locations, no sending others in their places. Crowley claimed that it was to ensure that he knew his son was living in an appropriate place, and that he was not being spirited away by some grabby stranger; Castiel was sure that Crowley just liked making him uncomfortable. He grimaced and pulled open the door, glaring at his former mate. “Crowley.”

“Castiel.” Crowley nodded coldly at him. “Wait in the car, Samandriel. I want to see my youngest before I leave.”

Castiel bit back a growl. “Dean?” he called reluctantly. “Can you and Ben come to the door?”

Dean carried Ben over, a murderous glint in his eye. “Hey, asswipe,” he said icily, shifting Ben in his arms.

“Don’t curse in front of my children.” Crowley held out his arms; Castiel swallowed back bile as Dean reluctantly passed the infant over to him. “Hello there, my boy,” Crowley said, none of Dean’s warmth and crooning in his voice. The way he said ‘my boy’ made Ben sound like a possession, and Castiel was hard pressed to hold back the words he longed to spit at the man. “Look at you, a good, strong Beta stuck in a house of Omegas. That can’t be easy.” Ben fussed in his arms, reaching blindly for Castiel.

“Okay, you’ve seen him. You can go now,” Castiel snapped, shifting uncomfortably.

“You don’t get to deny me the right to spend time with my son,” Crowley replied calmly. “Such a poor child, raised up in such squalor by a single parent. It’s not what I would have wished on either of my children, but well, you left me with so little choice here.”

Castiel hissed, reaching instinctively for Dean. “You have a funny definition of squalor.” He twined his fingers about Dean’s, taking comfort in the warm, familiar press of his hand, the smooth texture of his skin.

Crowley’s eyes tracked Castiel’s movements, hardening as he stared at his hand, wrapped around Dean’s. “Well, now, this is interesting,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to glare at Castiel. “I knew my sons were being raised in an undesirable home. I didn’t realize they were being brought up in a veritable piece of pornography.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re done.” Dean released Castiel’s hand and stepped forward, stretching his arms out for Ben. “Get off my property, MacLeod.”

“Certainly.” Crowley passed Ben to him and stepped back as though he had been burned. “I’ll leave you to your impropriety.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to the car, spine rigid and set.

Castiel shook his head. “I hate that man,” he muttered, glancing up at Dean.

“Ah, well, screw him.”

“Been there, done that. It wasn’t very satisfying.”

A bark of startled laughter slipped from Dean’s lips. “Damn, Cas, not what I meant!” He shook his head. “Let’s go back in. He’s not going to ruin our day.”

Castiel nodded his agreement. All too aware of Crowley’s car, still parked on the street, he leaned forward and placed a swift, gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “Damn right he’s not. I’ve got plans for you during Ben’s next nap.”

Dean chuckled, shifting Ben in his arms and capturing Castiel’s lips with his own, drawing out the kiss for several long, sweet seconds. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

0o0o0o0o0

Fergus Crowley MacLeod stared idly at his computer, swirling a tiny crystal glass of well-aged Craig casually in his hand. Things were worse than he had imagined. Not only had his mate seen fit to leave him, showing balls no Omega should possess, he had gone and hooked up with some slutty Omega whore. It was the forte of many a porno; two needy Omegas humping desperately until some Alpha would show up and put them into place with his knot. In this case, there were no Alphas in sight, and it was Crowley’s _mate_ that was doing the humping. The idea galled him.

Crowley frowned, tapping the keyboard with a manicured finger. What was the boy’s name? Wallace? Wakefield? No—Winchester. That was right—he was Samuel Winchester’s brother. Crowley would not have been surprised to find out that Castiel was fucking his lawyer, but the lawyer’s Omega brother? That was a twist Crowley had not seen coming.

_Dean Winchester,_ he typed into the search bar. Surely he could find something juicy—something to punish his mate and the whore.

That something juicy came in the form of the second link on the search page. Crowley frowned, scanning over the old article, proclaiming in scant detail the results of a court case. “Well, there’s a possibility,” Crowley murmured, bookmarking the page. It seemed the Winchester boy had some troubling ghosts in his past, and people tended to do poorly when their old demons came out to play.

A cursory search on the name _Alastair Mortris_ brought up a short blurb and a location on the sex offenders’ directory. It seemed that the man had been released from prison on good behavior three months ago, subject to meetings with a parole officer twice a month. Crowley shook hid head, reaching for a pad of paper and scribbling down the man’s address. It seemed he had a visit to pay after work tomorrow.

0o0o0o0o0

The run-down shack of a house was even smaller and more dilapidated than Dean Winchester’s, Crowley noted distastefully. A tiny, single-story place with an old wine cellar out back, there was nothing distinguishing the house from any of its fellows, save for the identity of the inhabitant inside. Wrinkling his nose, Crowley picked his way through the overgrown lawn, carefully avoiding rotten spots in the steps as he made his way up the tiny wooden porch. He rang the doorbell, wiped his hand on a pocket handkerchief, and rocked back on his heels to wait.

A rail thin Alpha answered the door, his hair receding unfortunately, a scruffy beard poorly hiding his long chin and sinewy neck. “Yes?” he asked, his voice a nasal, grating whine in Crowley’s ears.

“Alastair Mortris?”

“Who’s asking?”

Crowley smiled politely. “My name is Fergus Crowley MacLeod. Crowley, if you’re so inclined. May I come in?”

Alastair shrugged, stepping back. Crowley stepped carefully into the house, wrinkling his nose at the stink of old food and unwashed carpeting. “So, mm, what brings a stranger to my humble abode?” Alastair asked, shutting the door with a loud click.

“We have a mutual thorn in our sides, it seems,” Crowley began without preamble. “Dean Winchester.”

Alastair wrinkled his nose and folded his arms across his skinny chest. “Thorn in my side is putting it lightly. What’s the boy done to you? Hm, did he drag you off before a judge as well?”

“Nothing so obvious.” Crowley shook his head and let out a long-suffering sigh. “It seems the little whore has started up a sexual relationship with my mate. My Omega mate. You can imagine how galling that is.”

Alastair grinned toothily. “Sounds like a wet dream to me,” he responded casually. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Do? Why would I expect you to do anything?” Crowley asked carelessly. “I’m here to give you an opportunity, that’s all.”

“Oh?” Alastair leaned back against the doorjamb, surveying Crowley with bright, calculating eyes.

“Yes.” Crowley smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, folded up sheet of paper. “At some point, I might be unable to pick up my children from the house my mate is sharing with Dean Winchester. I would be most grateful if you would be willing to retrieve them for me when I call. Here is the address. Do you get my meaning?”

Alastair hummed, unfolding the paper and scanning it before stuffing it into his pocket. “I think I get your meaning quite well, Mr. MacLeod.”

“Excellent.” Crowley smiled, extending his hand for Alastair to shake. “Well, Mr. Mortris, I am sure you are a busy man, as am I. I’ll just show myself out now.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” Alastair replied, his eyes tracking Crowley as he exited the dilapidated house.

Crowley smirked the entire ride home, enjoying the feel of sleek leather beneath his legs and the purr of his expensive, meticulously cared for vehicle. A quick hundred dollars paid to the babysitter, and he was all set for a quiet night in with his son, the delicious taste of forthcoming revenge singing heavily about him, righting all that had gone wrong in his world.


	20. Best Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastair shows up while Dean is alone at the house. He threatens Dean and forces him to come with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My title is punny and I can't stop laughing. Because the last chapter was called 'bitter revenge' and this one takes place still in the winter! Get it? Get it? Okay, I'll shut up.
> 
> A lot of people expressed worries for Samandriel last chapter. Spoiler I feel comfortable giving you all: he's going to be fine. The rest of our cast of characters, on the other hand....
> 
> Warnings: kidnap, physical assault, threatened rape, threatened child molestation, threatened murder, and just a general warning for Existence of Alastair.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Dean ordered, laughing as Castiel stumbled over the pebbled driveway. “Keep going, keep going, now stop. Put your hands out.”

Castiel frowned, reaching out awkwardly to pat the object before him. “It feels smooth,” he said, frowning with concentration. “Can I open my eyes?”

“Go ahead,” Dean replied, grinning.

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open; he blinked, shaking his head. “Dean,” he said slowly. “Is that a car?”

“Technically, it’s a truck,” Dean responded, chuckling. “I figured that between taking the kids to school, both our jobs, and you having class twice a week, it’s about time we became a two car family, isn’t it?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured, running a hand across the shiny blue hood. “Dean, how did you even afford this?”

Dean shrugged. “Bobby gets some junkers from time to time. Cars people are itching to get rid of. The guy who brought this in was determined to sell it, even though nothing was wrong that a good tune-up and some tweaks wouldn’t fix.” He smirked. “It was a steal, Cas. He was asking for less than a grand, and it only took me a few hours to get this baby running good as new.”

Castiel smiled, glancing from the truck to Dean. “Well, this makes coordinating rides a lot easier,” he murmured. “I've only been behind the wheel once in eight years, though, and I didn't have to worry about keeping it up to speed. I'm a bit out of practice.”

“I figured.” Dean tossed his mate the keys; Castiel caught them easily, turning them over in his hands as though expecting them to vanish. “I’ve got car seats set up in the back for Ben and Samandriel already. Why don’t we take a family grocery shopping trip, and you can drive?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed nervously. “What if I crash?”

“You won’t,” Dean assured him. “If it gets too hard, I’ll take over, but it won’t.”

“I don’t even have my license anymore,” Castiel replied, shaking his head, but a smile twitched at his lips regardless.

“Okay, so we’ll stop at DMV first. No big deal.” Dean snorted as Castiel cocked his head at him. “Yeah, you heard me. I’ll wait in line for you. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Samandriel protested the use of a car seat, as he had taken to doing around his seventh birthday, but it only took a warning look from Castiel before the child reluctantly climbed into the booster seat. “Car seats are for babies,” he grumbled, glaring at his father as Dean strapped Ben into the other seat.

“Babies and kids your age,” Dean replied cheekily. “You’ll be glad for it when Papa starts driving.”

Castiel leaned across the seat to whap the side of Dean’s head. “Stop that,” he ordered. “You’re the one who swears I won’t crash.”

“Yeah, but I never said you won’t get too heavy handed with the breaks.”

“Go back in the house and stay there,” Castiel ordered. Dean laughed, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

The line at the DMV was frustratingly long, but when they left, Castiel was the proud owner of a new driver’s license. He drove slowly, paying far more attention to the speed limit than Dean ever did, but it was pleasant just to be in the car with his family, running errands and worrying about nothing more important than whether Castiel was going to win the battle over adding rabbit food to Dean's fridge.

Domesticity was nice. Who knew?

0o0o0o0o0

Shortly before Dean had to leave for his shift the next morning, Castiel headed out, at ease in the blue truck, to take Samandriel to school. He would drop Ben off at daycare for a few hours while he went to class, and then pick up his sons and return home until his shift at the bar. Dean smiled fondly as he kissed his mate goodbye and made his way to the shower, washing his hair quickly and throwing on a pair of worn jeans and an old T-shirt. Perfect mechanic’s wear; Dean could not imagine working a job where he had to wear a suit all day.

The air was crisp and cold, and Dean was glad for his warm leather jacket. Keys in hand, he made his way to the Impala, biting back the urge to whistle.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder; Dean stilled, his heart pounding as the unnaturally loud, ominous click of a cocked revolver sounded in the air.

“Long time no see, Deano.”

Dean gasped, sucking air into lungs that seemed to have forgotten how to function. “Alastair,” he breathed, tensing as the man’s fingers bit into his skin. “You’re supposed to be in prison.”

“Mm, it’s funny how that works. Turns out, as long as you smile pretty at the guards and don’t shank anyone in the showers, they’ll let you out early and call it good behavior. I was all set to go on rebuilding my life, but then a little birdy slipped me your address. How could I resist?” Dean could practically hear the leer in the Alpha’s voice; he clenched his fists, the gun at his back a clear warning not to yell. “Walk with me.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean replied tersely, shaking. “You won’t shoot me in the middle of the street.”

“Won’t I?” Alastair laughed softly, running his hand up Dean’s neck. Dean shivered where clammy skin made contact with his own. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll let you get into that pretty little Impala of yours and go off to work. Maybe you can even call the cops, but what proof would you have?” Ragged fingernails raked lightly across Dean’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll go find that pretty, pretty bitch of yours and his pretty, pretty son.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean hissed, vibrating with rage.

“Maybe I’ll draw up a note claiming that the boy’s other daddy wants me to pick him up from school. He’s a little young, but an Omega’s an Omega in the end, aren’t they?”

“You’re sick,” Dean snarled furiously. “Samandriel is a _child.”_

“All the better to get started early, don’t you think?” Alastair jammed the gun hard against his back. “My patience is growing thin, Deano. Give me your phone, and walk with me.”

With shaking hands, Dean drew his cell phone from his pocket and passed it over to Alastair. It felt like signing his own execution papers. The man hummed contentedly, stepping around Dean to face him. Prison had not been kind to Alastair; never particularly attractive to begin with, lines ravaged his face, giving him a feral, savage look. “Now, then, let’s do this nicely. Give me your hand and walk with me, or I’ll be back for that pretty whore of yours and his bitch kid.”

Dean growled, but allowed Alastair to grasp his limp, unresisting hand. Forcefully, the Alpha tugged him, pulling Dean along as he walked at a brisk pace towards a beaten up sedan. “Front seat, Deano,” he ordered, opening the driver’s side door and giving Dean a shove. “No funny business.”

Trembling with rage and terror, Dean clambered over the seats and into the passenger’s spot. He sat, his mind scrabbling for something, anything he could do to get out of this, as Alastair climbed into the driver’s seat and strapped on his seat belt. He wasn’t drugged this time. He could fight. He just had to wait for an opening, so that he could wrest Alastair’s gun from him and empty it into his chest.

It seemed that Alastair read his motives; the entire drive, the man kept one eye on Dean, watching him carefully. Dean stared through the windshield, taking note of every side street and back road that Alastair took. This time, he would know damn well where he was. This time he would be prepared.

He ignored the cold fear that settled in his belly, because paying attention to the emotion would do him no good. He could break down as soon as he had gotten free of this nightmare.

Alastair pulled into the driveway of a tiny, ramshackle house—not the one he had kept Dean in before, that was certain. “Get out,” Alastair ordered. “Make a break for it, and I’ll run you over on the way to pick up your bitch.”

Dean would die before he let the man get his filthy hands on Castiel. Swallowing hard, he exited the car, shaking as he looked at his surroundings. Dilapidated houses, boarded up windows, and cracked pavement met his eyes, the sparse layer of snow unable to disguise dead weeds and overgrown lawns. Alastair smirked at Dean. “Guns go off all the time here, Deano, so don’t get any ideas. I’ll shoot you if I have to, and my neighbors will just draw their blinds and look the other way.”

Dean glared at him. “All right, you’ve got me out here. Congratulations,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, congratulate me later.” Alastair grinned and jerked his head in the direction of a small cellar. “Walk.”

Angrily, Dean shook his head. Alastair’s eyes darkened murderously. “Don’t play the stubborn hero with me, boy,” he hissed, stalking around the car and seizing Dean by the collar. “I won’t hesitate to shoot you and drag you down myself. Then I’ll bring myself a little bitch of yours to play with.” His eyes searched Dean’s, cold and glinting with sadistic delight. “Or maybe you don’t really care for them. Maybe I’ll take your baby brother instead. I’ve had Alphas, you know, in prison. Not quite as tasty as a weeping Omega whore, but I’ll make an exception.”

Dean jerked out of Alastair’s hold. “If you bring my family into this—”

“It’s up to you, my boy,” Alastair interrupted, smiling ruthlessly. “You might have been sitting around getting a taste of Omega ass, but I’ve been doing my research. Who will it be? Your bitch and his son? Your brother and his little wifey? That pretty Alpha cunt you work with? Who should I pick after I shoot you?”

Dean swallowed hard. “All right,” he rasped, jerking out of Alastair’s hold. “All right. I’ll go.”

“That’s my boy,” Alastair chuckled, nudging him towards the cellar.

The dark room stank with the smell of old wine and mildew. Alastair flicked on a light and pushed Dean down the stairs, closing the entry flaps behind him. “It’s not quite as soundproofed as your old room was, but it will do,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. Dean stood, rigid, allowing the Alpha to press his nose to Dean’s neck and inhale. “Mm, just as sweet as I remembered. I thought about you in prison, you know. Every time I took a new bitch, oh, the things I imagined doing to you.”

“Shut up.” There was no fire in Dean’s words; he shook, panic spreading through his veins. God, this was every one of his nightmares rolled into a terrifying reality. His every fiber begged for this to be a dream, screamed at him to wake up and roll over and look at Castiel, sleepy and mussed and contented and safe, but no matter how hard he clawed mentally at the scene around him, it refused to change. It was real. Oh god, it was _real._

Alastair’s fist connected hard with his jaw, snapping his head back. “You cost me years, Deano,” he murmured, slamming an elbow into Dean’s stomach. “Years that I’ll never get back.” Hard, greedy hands gripped his hair, drawing his head back, exposing his throat. “Fortunately, I’m a very forgiving man.”

Dean choked as a blow connected with his throat. He dropped, held up only by the wrenching hands in his scalp, his knees connecting hard with the dirt floor. “You can make it up to me now,” Alastair demanded. “Strip.”

Dean shook his head, his eyes watering as he coughed, struggling to bring in air. Alastair shrugged, releasing his grip on Dean’s hair. “All right, then. Time for me to go get the boy.”

“Wait!” Dean croaked as Alastair turned. “Alastair, don’t! Please!” He reached out, catching the man’s pant leg.

Alastair turned his head, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “Last chance, my pretty little whore,” he warned. “The next time you defy me, I’ll bring in everyone you love. Maybe I’ll fuck them, start a proper harem. Maybe, mm, maybe I’ll just slit their throats and feed you their blood.”

Trembling, Dean slipped out of his jacket, shuddering as the unheated air of the cellar hit his bare arms in full force. He did not dare stop to think of the cold; his shirt followed, then his shoes and socks, his jeans and boxers. Fully naked, he shivered, resisting the urge to cover himself from Alastair’s predatory gaze.

“Good,” Alastair hissed, stalking towards Dean. Roughly, he grabbed his shoulder and manhandled him towards a small, metal-framed bed in the corner, already equipped with shackles. Dean swallowed down fear—how long had the man been planning this? Had he gotten out of prison and set this up, fully intending to come after Dean in some twisted revenge fantasy?

The metal of the shackles was cold enough to burn. Alastair chained his wrists to the headboard, leaving his feet free, and drew a thick, heavy blanket up over him. Another blanket slid over his arms, blocking out some of the cold, and his captor drew back, surveying the setup critically. “There. Now you won’t freeze while I’m at work,” he murmured, leaning down and placing a hard, wet kiss on Dean’s closed lips. “I’ll be back in, mm, several hours. Don’t go anywhere.”

With that, Alastair turned and left the cellar, flicking off the lights behind him.

Dean wrenched at the cuffs, but they held fast, unyielding. Defeated, Dean slumped back, wriggling his arms to get them back under the blanket, which had slipped during his struggle. Alastair might have him now, but he wasn’t beaten yet. Bobby would notice his absence from work. Cas would realize that he hadn’t come home. Meanwhile, Dean owed it to himself and his family to survive, to hang on and watch for an opening, for any chance to escape, and hopefully beat Alastair into the ground while he was at it.

Six years ago, Dean had promised himself that he would never be made helpless again, and he intended to keep that promise.


	21. Left Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns home to several missed calls on the house phone. Dean is missing, and he tries to maintain his composure whilst panicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After posting the last chapter, I made a numbers pact with myself. Basically, I was not going to post this until the story hit 7,000 views. It was SUPPOSED to be a way to get me to slow down, but hey, not complaining. Hopefully, neither are you.
> 
> Seriously, when I started writing this, I didn't think people would really read it. I am floored by the number of people who have not only read, but have commented, bookmarked, left kudos, or subscribed. You all are truly amazing. I don't know what I did to deserve such glorious, wonderful readers, but I really appreciate you. 
> 
> Whew. I'm getting emotional, and I can write sappy love-letters to you all later. Enjoy the chapter! Especially Kevin. (I have nothing but love and adoration for Kevin. I really hope I'm doing him even a sliver of justice...)

Class was going well, Castiel thought. There were certain advantages to being one of the oldest students in the room. He was exempt from the petty drama that seemed to affect so many college students, and he came to learn armed with the experience that came from nearly a decade of adulthood and caring for himself. The professor seemed to appreciate his input in class, and while the coursework was challenging, there was something ultimately satisfying about taking a class while knowing that it would directly benefit him in the workforce. He left campus with his notebook in hand and his head stuffed full, but the mental exercise was all worthwhile.

Castiel had several hours to kill before he had to pick Samandriel up from school, so after swinging by the daycare center to retrieve Ben, he puttered around town, wandering through the library and dropping by the grocery store to pick up pie ingredients. It had been a while since he had cooked Dean a pie from scratch; recently, his schedule simply had not afforded him the time. He was pretty sure he would have an opportunity within the next few days, and his heart warmed fondly as he pictured Dean’s face whenever he bit into a steaming hot piece of the freshly made dessert.

Castiel was one of the first parents outside Carver Edlund to pick up Samandriel from school. His child had picked up a small posse of friends; cries of ‘bye, Alfie!’ sounded through the window as his son ran to the car. “Alfie?” Castiel asked with a grin as his son climbed into the backseat.

“Samandriel’s too long, and it’s a weird name,” Samandriel responded seriously. “Alfie’s cooler.”

“Of course. Silly me. It’s all about being cool, isn’t it?”

“No,” Samandriel replied, rolling his eyes with exasperation, “but being cool means more people will trade chips with you when you get gross ones at lunch.”

Castiel shook his head, pulling carefully out of the parking lot. Driving was at once familiar and foreign; Dean could tease him all he wanted for being cautious, but like hell was Castiel going to wreck a brand new car, or even a used car that was new to him, especially with his children in the backseat.

Castiel frowned as he pulled into the driveway, parking next to the Impala. Dean shouldn’t be home yet. There was still at least an hour and a half before his shift finished, and that was without factoring in travel time. Shaking his head—he’d ask Dean when he got inside—Castiel walked around to the side of the car, unbuckling Ben from his car seat. “Come on, Samandriel,” he called, adjusting the infant in his arms and making his way to the front door.

The door was locked. That was strange. Dean never locked the door when he was home, not until he and Castiel went to bed. One handed, Castiel fumbled his key into the lock and pushed the door open. “Dean?” he called, scuffing his feet on the welcome mat.

The answering machine beeped idly in the living room, and Dean did not respond. Maybe the Impala was having troubles, Castiel thought. Dean had probably hitched a ride with a coworker. It was surprising, given the amount of time and care Dean put into that car, but Castiel supposed that older models would have their quirks.

He shooed Samandriel through the door and set up Ben’s playpen in the living room, laying the infant down on his back. Castiel glanced at the answering machine, each beep loud and forlorn in the otherwise silent house. Three missed messages. Strange, but not unheard of. Castiel pressed play, leaning up against the wall.

 _“Dean?”_ Bobby Singer’s voice crackled from the speakers. _“Pick up your phone, you idjit. You’re not sick, are you? Call me when you’re on your way.”_

Castiel frowned. Why would Bobby be calling? Had Dean not shown up to work? Images of car accidents flashed through his mind, and he shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Dean was fine.

 _“Dean.”_ Bobby again. _“It’s about noon. I’m not going to fire you, but you’d better have a damn good explanation for missing work today. Don’t worry me like this. And call me back when you get this message!”_

A chill shuddered down Castiel’s spine as the third message began. Bobby’s voice, low and concerned, echoed in the quiet room. _“Dean, please pick up the phone. One of them. Your cell went straight to voicemail, so I’m guessing it’s dead. We’re all worried over here. Call back.”_

Castiel shivered, grabbing the phone and pressing the redial button. The phone rang twice before Bobby picked up. _“Damnit boy, you scared me!”_

“Bobby, this is Castiel. Dean’s roommate?” Cas was determined to not worry. Dean was fine—he had to be. He would figure this out. “Dean didn’t show up for work today?”

 _“Balls,”_ Bobby muttered. _“I was hoping this was him. No, he never showed. Any idea what’s going on?”_

“None,” Cas replied, shifting nervously. “He was getting ready for work when I left the house. Dean’s car is here, but he isn’t.”

Bobby sighed. _“This ain’t like him,”_ the old man said. _“I’ve never known Dean to miss a day of work in his life. You sure he’s not sick?”_

“He was fine when I left this morning, and he’s not in the house.” Castiel shook his head. “I’ll call Sam. He might have some idea.”

 _“You do that, and tell the boy to call me back as soon as you see him.”_ With a click, Bobby hung up the phone.

Castiel’s hands trembled as he dialed Sam’s office number. Sam picked up almost immediately. _“Allan and Mumford law, this is Samuel Winchester.”_

“Sam?”

 _“Cas!”_ Papers rustled in the background. _“What is it? If it’s a social call, can it wait?”_

“It’s not.” Castiel clenched his fist around the handset. “Dean’s missing. He didn’t show up for work. The Impala’s here, but Dean’s not in the house. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

 _“None,”_ Sam said, seemingly unconcerned. _“Listen, Cas, can I call you after work? I’m a little swamped right now.”_

“Of course. Thank you, Sam.” Castiel returned the handset to its charger, running a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Hopefully it would not be necessary, but Castiel called Meg and arranged for her to watch the kids while he was at work. Dean would be back by the time he got home, Castiel told himself, with a good explanation for his absence. And sure, Castiel would be angry, but it would all work out.

Everything was going to be fine.

0o0o0o0o0

Dean had not returned by the time Castiel finished his shift.

Meg waved off Castiel’s offer to pay her, and Castiel was left in the house, which felt frighteningly huge and empty despite the presence of his children, asleep in their room. Castiel paced the living room, unable to relax. Shadows shifted and shrank, the clock ticked on, and Castiel was hard pressed to ignore the pit in his stomach as concern melded into fear.

Where could Dean possibly be?

He tried calling Dean’s cell phone, and his call went directly to voicemail. He phoned Benny. He called Charlie, wishing he had the numbers of Dean’s coworkers. None of them had heard from Dean. The darkness pressed in on Castiel, but he made no move to turn on the light. Any moment Dean would come through the door, all apologies, all promises to make it up to Castiel and pull a few extra shifts at Bobby’s, and everything would be just fine.

Dean didn’t come.

Castiel went through the motions in the morning. He fed and changed Ben, drove Samandriel to school, and returned to the house. The Impala sat, shiny and familiar and mocking in the driveway, a reminder of how _wrong_ the empty house felt. Finally, Castiel couldn’t take it. He loaded Ben into his car seat and drove to the police station, every fiber of his being itching with nerves. He filled out a missing person’s report, hardly seeing the form, and answered the deputy’s questions mechanically. The drive home felt too long, and the empty house seemed huge in Dean’s absence. God, what if he was dead?

When Castiel picked up Samandriel from school, he drove straight to Sam’s house.

Kevin answered the door, one of the twins in his arms, the other babbling happily in a high chair as she mashed soft food into her hair. “Hey, Cas!” he greeted him, smiling. “What brings you by?”

“Sam didn’t tell you?” Castiel asked, removing his shoes and slinging his coat over his shoulder. Beside him, Samandriel kicked off his sneakers and ran into the kitchen to raid the pantry, as Sam and Kevin had given him leave to do.

“Tell me what?” Kevin asked, his lips turning in a slight frown.

Castiel swallowed hard. “Dean’s missing. I—I was hoping you guys had heard from him.”

“Missing?” Kevin’s eyes widened. “No way. Are you sure he didn’t just have one too many at the bar and crash at a friend’s house?”

“I’m sure,” Castiel replied grimly, adjusting Ben in his arms. The infant fussed, flailing tiny hands. “He didn’t show up to work yesterday, and he hasn’t been home or answered his phone since. His car’s parked in the driveway, but Dean’s just… gone.”

“Crap,” Kevin muttered. “Did you call the police?”

Castiel nodded. “I went down to the station today to fill out a missing person’s report. This isn’t like him. I was really hoping you or Sam had heard from him.”

Kevin shook his head. “It’s been all quiet here—well, as quiet as things get with two little kids.” He shook his head, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a washcloth, dabbing some of the smeared food off his daughter’s face. “I’ll call John and Mary. Maybe they’ve heard from him?”

Castiel fidgeted as Kevin called Dean’s parents. Just from the one side of the conversation he could hear, he knew they had not heard from their son. “Okay, um… Hospitals. Maybe someone’s come in who fits Dean’s description?”

Castiel nodded, sinking into a chair as Kevin called up various institutes, each time coming up with a negative response. No dead or comatose John Does, which was something at least, but Castiel could not help but feel that each wasted second was a tick waiting for a bomb to go off.

“Turn his phone GPS on?”

Castiel shook his head, clutching Ben to his chest. “His phone’s off. Straight to voicemail every time. Anyways, I—” his throat seized. “I don’t think I have the authority. Roommates don’t get to make that kind of call.”

Kevin grimaced, nodding. “Right. Damn, I’m out of ideas.”

Samandriel wandered back into the kitchen, his brow furrowing seriously. “Papa, is Daddy in trouble?”

Kevin raised an eyebrow at the moniker, but remained mercifully silent. Castiel sighed. “I don’t know, Samandriel. I really hope not.”

Samandriel’s chin trembled slightly. “He didn’t leave us, did he?”

“Of course not.” Dean wouldn’t just up and leave like that—and anyways, he would have taken the Impala if he had. “I’m sure he’s fine. Here.” Castiel shifted, beckoning Samandriel forward and placing Ben in his arms, offering his son a shaky smile as the boy adjusted his hold on his brother. “Why don’t you go play with Ben in the living room where I can see you, and Kevin and I will continue trying to think of where Daddy could be, okay?”

Samandriel nodded, directing his attention to his brother and moving awkwardly to the living room. Castiel slumped forward, trembling. “I just don’t know where he could be. What if he’s hurt, or—or I don’t even know.”

“I’m calling Sam,” Kevin said, worried. “Three heads are better than two. He might have some ideas.”

 Sam arrived home much too quickly to have kept to the speed limit. He practically ran in the door and seized Kevin, clinging to his mate, a small, lost younger brother for all his muscular height. “When Cas called—when you called—” Sam broke off, drawing a tense, shuddering breath. “I really thought he’d get home before you went to work. I didn’t think—” He swallowed hard. “We need to find him. Last time he went missing was… I can’t go through that again.”

Castiel shuddered. “You don’t think something like… that… happened, do you?”

Sam shook his head fervently. “No. No. Who’d want to take Dean? Alastair’s still in prison, and no one else—unless he never said anything—”

“Sam.” Kevin spoke quietly, all serious eyes and a pinched, worried face. “I hate to be the one to bring this up, but don’t people sometimes get out of prison early?”

Sam shook his head. “People, yes, but not _Alastair.”_ He spat the name as though it was poison on his tongue. “He’d never behave himself long enough to make parole.”

“I’m going to check, just in case.” Swiftly, Kevin pulled his smart phone out of his pocket, tapping quickly across the screen. Castiel shuddered, drawing his knees up on the chair, perching awkwardly and pressing his thighs to his chest.

Kevin gasped, the phone slipping from his hands and landing on the table with a dull, final thud. Ice filled his veins before the words had left the other man’s mouth. “Oh God. Oh God. He’s out.” Castiel dug his fingers into his calves as Kevin scrabbled blindly on the table for his phone. “He’s been out for months, Sam. Oh God.”

“Papa?” Samandriel poked his head into the room, Ben clutched awkwardly in his arms. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Samandriel.” It was a poor lie; Castiel shook, his knuckles slowly whitening as he tightened his grip on his legs. “It’s nothing. Go back into the other room. _Please.”_

Eyes huge in his face, Samandriel fled the room. Castiel trembled, grasping at the fabric of his jeans. It offered him no comfort, but at least this way he had something solid to hold on to, to remind him the he couldn’t just snap. “Where does he live?” Castiel clenched his teeth, rage and fear roiling in his gut. He was going to be sick. He was going to cry. He was going to pound the wall to shreds and beat Alastair with the beams.

“Slow down,” Sam said, shaking. “We—we can’t just go in there. It's trespassing. We’d need to call the police and have them issue a warrant to go in themselves, and for that we’d need probable cause.”

“That’s only if we were trying to break in.” Kevin frowned, squinting as he thought. “If we get him to let us in, that’s a different matter. We could distract him and search the house.”

“And how do you expect him to let us in?” Sam demanded.

Kevin shook his head. “You, I don’t know.” Hesitantly, he glanced up at his mate. “Look, we know the guy’s a pervert. That much is obvious. What if Castiel and I pretend that we’re sloshed and need a place to crash? Two supposedly drunk Omegas, he’d probably let us in.”

 _“No.”_ Sam paled and slammed his fist down on the table. “No. Kevin—that’s not a plan, that’s just stupidity! He’s probably got Dean already! I’m not letting him take you too!”

Castiel frowned. “Kevin has a point.” Sam’s head snapped around; he opened his mouth to speak, and Castiel held up a hand, cutting him off. “Hear me out. Kevin and I can do what he said, pretend to be drunk and knock on his door. We’ll stumble around acting wasted for a bit, then you show up looking for Kevin. Pretend you guys had a fight or something. You and Kevin start arguing, and in the confusion, I’ll go through the house and look for Dean.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go into that freak’s house alone. Either of you,” Sam barked, clenching his fists. In the high chair beside him, his daughter began to cry, distressed by her father’s sudden anger. “Ah—shoot, Ruby, don’t cry. Dad’s not mad at you,” Sam said, directing his attention briefly to the infant. The child quieted, and Sam turned back to Kevin and Castiel. “No.”

Castiel glowered at Sam. “I do not need your permission,” he hissed furiously. “Dean’s my _mate._ I’m going in one way or another. I’d like to have you and Kevin as backup, but you can’t stop me from going!”

“Your mate?” Kevin muttered curiously. Castiel ignored him. He did not have the patience to explain the nature of his relationship at the moment.

“Damnit, Cas.” Sam groaned, slumping forward. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

Sam sighed. “Both of you are carrying pepper spray,” he said slowly. “Kevin, do you remember how to shoot?”

“Like you’d let me get out of practice,” Kevin responded snarkily.

“Okay. Both of you—pepper spray and cell phones. Kevin, bring your gun.”

Kevin and Castiel both nodded. “Think of it this way. If he tries anything, we will have reason to call the police,” Castiel said. “Then they can search the house. It’ll get looked at either way.”

“It had better not come to that.” Sam shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s the only idea,” Castiel snapped. Sam closed his eyes, defeated. Good. Castiel would have hated to have to fight Sam on this matter, but had it come down to it, he would have clawed his way past the Alpha to get to Dean. No one messed with Castiel’s family, especially not sick, twisted freaks like the man who had kidnapped Dean all those years ago. Even if Alastair didn’t have Dean this time, Castiel was determined to make the bastard pay.


	22. Locked in Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean suffers in Alastair's brutal clutches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, this chapter hurt to write. There are basically no redeeming qualities to it.
> 
> Warnings: explicit rape, captivity, pain, insults, Alastair is his usual creepy self.

“Did you miss me, Deano?” Dean was jerked from uneasy sleep as Alastair’s footsteps sounded on old wooden stairs, echoing heavily in the darkness. “I know I missed you, very much indeed. I thought about you all day. Oh, the things I thought about doing to you, and now I can.”

“Go to Hell,” Dean muttered, squinting as the light flickered on, blazing through the room in a dim, eerie glow. He shifted restlessly, goosebumps shuddering across his arms as the blanket slipped, exposing his limbs to the chilly bite of the room.

Alastair laughed, amused. “That does sound lovely,” he leered, striding to the far corner and dragging out an old, large space heater. “Only if I can take you, of course. Now, I’ll get this room warmed up, and we can begin. Does that sound good, Deano?”

Dean snorted. “Buddy, you are fifteen kinds of messed up if you think that sounds like anything I’m interested in,” he spat, his heart hammering. Alastair turned, baring yellowed teeth as he plugged the space heater into the wall and turned it on.

“Just what I wanted to hear.” With catlike grace, Alastair slunk across the tiny cellar, stopping by the metal foot of the bed. He seized the blanket and wrenched it to the floor, uncovering Dean’s naked body. “Oh, it’s been so long. Mm, I almost don’t know what to do first.” His eyes glimmered menacingly in the dim light. “So many ways to reclaim you. Through pain, through sex—it’s just like Christmas all over again.”

“Go screw yourself.”

Alastair chuckled. “Leaving yourself open to all sorts of racy jokes there, Deano.” Skeletal fingers tickled Dean’s flesh as Alastair caressed his calf. Dean jerked his leg away. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” Alastair clucked, disapproving. “What will it take for this to sink into that pretty little Omega brain? Fighting me will come down very, very hard on your little family unit.”

Dean hissed, stilling. “There’s my good boy,” Alastair crooned, his fingers roving carelessly over Dean’s flesh. “I’m feeling generous, Deano. I’m going to give you a choice. You can lie back, still and pretty, and let me fuck you, or you can suck me down and take active part in a blowjob. It’s all your choice.” Alastair smiled cruelly. “Don’t ever say I never let you pick.”

Dean’s mind raced. Neither was an appealing option. Alastair’s taste was forever seared into his memories, rancid and sour, and the idea of taking an active role in his own rape was repulsive. On the other hand, if Alastair fucked him, he would knot him. Dean had no intention of letting the man tie himself to him for any length of time. “I’ll blow you,” he growled, gritting his teeth.

“Good boy.” Alastair traced his hand up Dean’s thigh, skimming his fingers across cold skin, pebbled in the frigid air. His hand climbed steadily higher, skimming across Dean’s chest and neck. The man lifted his hand and tapped Dean’s mouth with a single long, bony finger. “Now, don’t get any ideas about these.” With a filthy, ragged nail, he peeled Dean’s lips open and ran his finger across Dean’s teeth. “If you bite me, I’ll yank every last one of them. I’m perfectly fine with keeping you on a liquid diet.”

Dean glared furiously at his captor. Alastair removed his hand from Dean’s face, unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock through the opening, leaking and engorged to its full length. Dean gulped. Though he was no longer a stranger to the art of blowjobs, he was used to Castiel. While large for an Omega, Cas could never compete in size with an Alpha’s erect cock. Dean shuddered, his jaw already aching.

Alastair seized Dean’s shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. Quickly, the man climbed onto the bed and straddled Dean, seizing him by the hair and drawing his face towards his crotch. Dean grimaced as Alastair’s erection grazed across his cheek, leaving a trail of precum in its wake. “Open wide, there’s a girl,” Alastair crooned, idly caressing Dean’s jaw.

Slowly, with every ounce of hatred he could dredge up racing through him, Dean allowed his mouth to fall slack. Alastair pushed into him with a loud groan, his cock heavy and hot on Dean’s tongue. Dean closed his eyes, gagging as Alastair thrust further, his cockhead brushing against Dean’s throat. “Sh, let me in, Deano,” the man whispered, tightening his grip on Dean’s hair. Heaving for breath, Dean struggled to relax against the intrusion.

Without warning, Alastair snapped his hips forward, holding Dean’s head in place as he forced the entirety of his length down Dean’s gullet. Dean gagged, his throat clenching around the foreign object, panicking as Alastair jammed Dean’s nose against his crotch. The foul, musky smell of the Alpha’s sweat and unwashed pubic hair assaulted his senses; he retched, choking on his own bile. Alastair moaned loudly, grinding against Dean’s face. He couldn’t breathe. Alastair was going to suffocate him. God, what an awful epitaph that would be— _Died with a dick down his throat._

Alastair pulled back, and Dean struggled to breathe. It was only a brief respite; the Alpha shoved forward again, fucking his throat with quick, pounding thrusts. The brutal pace left Dean’s throat stripped and raw, burning with every motion.

Pained as he was, Dean didn’t notice the swell of Alastair’s knot until it was too late. Alastair reached down and gripped his jaw, forcing it further open as swollen flesh expanded in his mouth, Alastair’s cock still lodged down his throat. The first spurt of hot come slid down his esophagus, rolling inexorably into his stomach. Dean choked, sucking in air as he tried not to panic. He had chosen a blowjob so Alastair _wouldn’t_ knot him. How was this even possible?

Dean’s jaw ached, forced open by Alastair’s swollen flesh and his strict warning against teeth. He whimpered, struggling to breathe, stretched and gagged around his tormentor’s cock. Alastair sighed, petting his head idly with a possessive hand. “Oh, how long I’ve wanted to try this,” he murmured, caressing Dean’s scalp. “Look at that mouth, all stretched around my dick. Mm, I should have tried knotting your mouth the first time I had you.”

Dean whimpered, drool trickling down his chin as he struggled to hold back sobs. Anger and humiliation burned in his cheeks, eclipsing the cold. Alastair tapped just under his eye; instinctively, he looked up. The Alpha leered down at him, smiling with satisfaction. “What a pretty picture you make, mouth stuffed full. Finally silent, too. It’s a nice change, boy. Almost makes me want to rip out that nice little tongue of yours. Seems your throat does the job even better than your tongue ever did.”

A shudder ran down Dean’s spine. Alastair laughed, tracing his finger over Dean’s upper lip. “Don’t fret, Deano. I did say 'almost.' You just be a good boy, and I won’t have to silence you permanently.”

Oh, the insults Dean longed to throw at the man, but they were trapped in his stuffed mouth. Alastair groaned as another jet of come splattered against the walls of Dean’s throat, hot and foul as it trickled into his gut. He closed his eyes, resigned. There was nothing to do but wait and detach himself from the situation.

It was a full twenty minutes before Alastair was able to pull out of his mouth; by that point, Dean’s entire face was numb. Gingerly, he closed his mouth, his jaw aching as it unlocked with a loud pop.

“Mmmarvelous.” Alastair rocked back on his heels, nodding with approval as his sharp gaze took in Dean’s face. Dean could imagine how he looked—tear tracks running down his cold-chapped face, lips purple and swollen, spit and remnants of come leaking down his chin. He grimaced and wiped his face awkwardly on his shoulder. “You do take a knot nicely from both ends.”

“Fuck you.” Dean hardly recognized his voice, raspy and raw with strain. Alastair simply laughed, patting him on the head.

“I think we’re done for now,” the man said, grabbing his ankles and pulling him down, flat on the bed. Dean yelped as his shoulders cracked, protesting the sudden change in position. Alastair drew the blanket up over his body and covered his arms once again, and then the man left, unplugging the heater and turning out the light, leaving Dean alone in the freezing dark.

0o0o0o0o0

Alastair came down to the cellar briefly the next morning to unchain Dean and take him inside to relieve himself. He allowed Dean to drink a bottle of water and ordered him to eat an apple, his revolver trained on Dean at all times. When Dean had eaten, he walked him back to the basement and chained him to the bed, covering him before leaving and heading out to work.

Dean had forgotten how _boring_ captivity was. He tugged at the shackles until he was exhausted and plotted brutal, fantastical methods of escape, most of which ended with Alastair in a bloody, lifeless heap on the ground. He thought about his family. Castiel would know he was missing by now. He hoped that Samandriel and Ben were okay—he did not fool himself into believing that his mate was emotionally well. Of all the ways to add insult to injury, that was possibly the worst. He’d gone with Alastair to keep Castiel safe, but there was no protecting his mate from the mental and emotional effects of his loss.

He counted the cracks in the wall. He dozed, waking abruptly when nightmares crept out from the corners of his mind. He mapped the route Alastair had taken in his mind, struggling to place his location relative to his house. Through it all, fear ripped at his insides, strong and unrelenting. He had to find a way to get out somehow, because no one was coming for him.

Hours later, Alastair returned, his footsteps heavy and menacing on the stairs. “How’s my favorite whore?” he called by way of greeting. Dean winced as light flooded the cellar, cruel and harsh in comparison to the all-consuming darkness. “Come on, sit up,” his captor ordered. “I brought you dinner. Can’t have you going all faint on me, can I, Deano?”

Dean glared, struggling to sit with his hands bound awkwardly to the headboard. Alastair turned on the space heater and sat on the bed, unwrapping a convenience store sandwich. “Eat it all, like a good girl,” he ordered, raising the food to Dean’s lips.

The names were getting stale, not that they had ever been original. Dean glowered, but took a bite, the tasteless meal sticking in his dry mouth. Alastair fed him the whole thing, and then placed a bottle of water to Dean’s lips. Dean drank, grateful for the water—he was thirsty.

“Alastair.” He grimaced—he hated to ask the man for anything, but he was only human. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Alastair sighed. “Of course you do. Why would this go any other way?” He balled up the sandwich wrapper and shoved it into his pocket, and then pulled out his gun, the keys to the handcuffs dangling from a single finger. “All right, my slut. No funny business.”

Sometime, Alastair would forget the gun. That was Dean’s only hope, his primary plan of escape. For now, he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt and allowed Alastair to walk him into the house. Using the bathroom under supervision was humiliating, but Alastair seemed loathe to take his eyes off Dean, even for a moment. Inwardly, Dean cursed his captor for being so careful.

Having relieved himself, Dean reluctantly followed Alastair back to the cellar. He stripped under the man’s watchful eye and laid back on the bed, glowering as the man snapped the cuffs back around his wrists. “Now, then, you should be good for the night.” Alastair grinned, his face lighting up with sadistic glee. “Since I had your mouth last night, I think I’ll have your ass this time. Don’t fight me, or I’ll swing by your house tomorrow after work.”

Dean lay limp and unresisting on the bed as Alastair fingered him open, bemoaning Dean’s lack of slick. Really, what did the man expect? Dean could hardly be less aroused. Frustrated, the man spat on his fingers and shoved three of them into Dean, twisting and curling, stretching him open. Dean’s passage burned with the sensation, dry and unforgiving.

“Your life will be a lot less painful when you learn to lie back and enjoy yourself,” Alastair muttered, unzipping his pants. He spat onto his hand and rubbed the spit over his dick, then seized Dean’s legs, lifting them and bending him in half. Dean’s knees knocked against his ears; his spine screamed in protest at the angle. “This will hurt.”

Dean bit back a cry as Alastair shoved into his dry passage, his erection scraping against Dean’s inner walls. The man took a moment to adjust, and then he was pulling out, slamming into Dean with harsh, careless impunity. Dean grunted as the impact knocked him back against the headboard, his limp cock and balls flapping weakly against his crotch. Heedless of Dean’s pain, Alastair rutted into him, his cock rubbing Dean raw.

It was hard and brutal, but at least this time Alastair was quick about it. After only a few minutes of thrusting, Alastair’s knot swelled; he groaned as he came and slumped forward, pinning Dean to the bed. “My beautiful whore,” he murmured, idly rolling his palm over Dean’s flaccid dick. “All I’ve done for you, and this little cock of yours isn’t even interested. Won’t you be a good boy and get hard for Daddy?”

Dean hissed as Alastair thumbed the head of his cock, working the soft, sensitive flesh with greedy hands. “Stop touching me,” he snarled, wiggling backwards as best he could.

“Ah-ah, none of that.” Dean stilled as Alastair raised his head, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. “This is mine, and I’ll play with it if I want to.” He stroked a long finger down Dean’s shaft. “I’m going to be locked in you for quite a while, you know. You should thank me for taking an interest in your pleasure.”

Dean glared at the man. “Sorry to disappoint—wait, no I’m not. I don’t find this pleasurable.”

“You will,” Alastair replied, unconcerned. “I’ll make sure of that.”

In the distance, a doorbell rang. Alastair froze, turning his head towards the cellar door. “Oh, dear. Of all the inconvenient times.” He yanked the pillow out from under Dean’s head and stuffed it into his mouth. “Stay still. This will hurt.” He braced his hands on Dean’s thighs and shoved himself backwards.

Dean screamed into the pillow as Alastair forced his knot out of Dean’s passage, splitting skin and tearing muscle. Blood pooled between his legs in the man’s wake; he stared, disbelieving, at the growing red stain, the scene wavering as black spots encroached on the edges of his vision. Alastair panted, his face twisting into a grimace. “There. You stay nice and quiet while I deal with my inconvenient visitors.” The man tucked his cock, still spurting come at random, back into his pants. He zipped up his jeans and turned, flicking off the light as he exited the cellar.

Dean whimpered, pain throbbing between his legs. He planted shaking feet on the bed, groaning as his flesh screamed in protest. His heel slipped in the blood; his leg spasmed, agony ripped through his body, and Dean lost the fight for consciousness.


	23. Guns and Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Kevin go to Alastair's house to look for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, last chapter is probably the first one I posted that got mixed reviews. Honestly, I saw that coming. Now, that said--for the most part, you guys have been fantastic about showering me with praise and making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I appreciate that. I also appreciate criticism. I had some glaring characterization issues pointed out to me about last chapter, and I may well go back and make some edits. I'm open to doing that with other chapters as well, if you guys noted other problems in the story. Let me know! I like criticism; it helps me improve as a writer!
> 
> I am much more fond of this chapter than the last one, and I hope you all will enjoy it as well! Warning for probable character death.

“This is a bad idea,” Sam muttered for the umpteenth time, tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. They had left Samandriel, Ben, and the twins in the care of Sam’s parents for the night, and now Sam, Castiel, and Kevin sat in Sam’s car a few blocks away from Alastair’s neighborhood, getting ready for the invasion.

“We heard you the first fifty times.” Castiel unscrewed the cap from a bottle of bourbon, tilting his head back and taking a long drink. He allowed some of the liquid to roll down his chin and onto his shirt, to better complete the ruse.

“We’re not trying to actually get drunk, you know,” Kevin reminded him nervously, reaching for the bottle and swilling a mouthful of alcohol around in his mouth. He leaned out the open window and spat, amber liquid slashing on the pavement.

“My mate’s missing, most likely kidnapped by the same psychopathic rapist we’re about to go visit,” Castiel snapped, jerking the bottle out of Kevin’s hands. Some of the liquid spilled out onto the edge of Kevin’s jacket sleeve. “I’ll have a drink if I damn well want to.” He screwed the cap back on the bottle and tugged at his tie, loosening it to finish off his disheveled costume. He rubbed his eyes briskly until they watered, reddening with the pressure. “Let’s go.”

Sam remained, sitting tensely in the driver’s seat. Castiel slung his arm around Kevin’s shoulder and nodded, reminding himself to sway and stumble as they walked. For his part, Kevin played the wasted drunkard quite artfully, staggering after Castiel and babbling loudly about nothing, slurring his words.

“This is it,” Castiel muttered as Alastair’s house came into view. He had memorized the address before setting out; steeling himself, he wobbled his way up the steps and leaned on the doorbell.

Kevin slumped against the porch railing, slipping a hand into his pocket as though to ensure that his gun was where he had placed it. Castiel ran a thumb over his trench coat, comforted by the heavy weight of a pepper spray canister. They were armed, they were ready, and now they just had to play their parts.

Castiel’s head snapped around as the cellar door beside the house creaked open. A tall, gaunt man exited, reeking of sex and heightened pheromones. If there had been any doubt in Castiel’s mind that this man had Dean, it was gone how. He held back a growl as the bony man walked towards them, adjusting his pants over his obvious erection. “Well, now, what’s this?” he queried softly, baring his teeth.

“Hiiii.” Kevin drew out his words, raising a lazy hand. “C’n we use your bathroom, pretty please?” He slurred, wavering as he straightened. Castiel resolved to leave the acting to Kevin. Clearly, this was something he could handle. “It’s just a looong walk home, and m’ mate has th’ car.” He squinted as though trying to see Alastair’s face through an alcohol induced blur. “Hey. Hey. Please?”

“Hmmm.” Something cold and predatory glinted in Alastair’s eyes; Castiel swallowed down trepidation. They had known to expect this, he reminded himself. “I suppose I can let you in.” He walked up the steps, brushing past Castiel on the way to the door. Castiel repressed a shudder.

The door clicked open and Castiel stumbled over the threshold, hoping desperately that he was not overdoing his motions. He had always held his liquor too well to experience total inebriation.

“Down the hall, on the left,” Alastair told Kevin, gesturing gracefully. Kevin staggered off, leaving Castiel alone in the hall with Alastair. He fidgeted, and hoped it looked like a drunken tic. Sam would be coming soon, he reminded himself. Their distraction was on the way.

Momentarily distracted by his thoughts, Castiel did not see the gun until it was too late. Alastair aimed the barrel at his face, smiling cruelly. “Now, this is very, very convenient,” he murmured, oily voice oozing with false welcome. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Castiel?”

Cas froze, his heart hammering. “What are you talking about?” he slurred.

“Oh, drop the act. I know you’re not drunk.” Alastair's lips twitched. “I, mm, well I wouldn’t have thought you’d have the gumption to come to my house directly, but it seems you’re full of delightful surprises!”

Shit. This wasn’t in the plan. Castiel’s hand twitched towards his pocket, and Alastair pressed the gun against his forehead. “Don’t even try it.”

“Put the gun down.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Kevin, standing at the bathroom door with his own gun clasped in shaking hands. “Now! Drop it!”

Alastair grabbed Castiel and whipped him around, shielding his own body with the Omega’s. “What a good try, Kevin. It’s Kevin, isn’t it?” Kevin’s face paled, but he made no move to lower his weapon. “Dear old Deano’s brother in law, and his whore. All wrapped up and tied with a bow, just for me.” He shifted, pressing the gun to Castiel’s temple. “Well, go on then, Kevin! Shoot me! Or are you worried you’ll hit dear little Cassie here?”

“Shoot him,” Castiel ordered, shaking. “Kevin, please.”

“Of course, if you shoot and miss, Castiel takes a bullet to the brain courtesy of my friend here.” Alastair grinned and tapped the trigger lightly. Castiel winced, sure that at any moment the man was going to squeeze the trigger and drop him where he stood.

Kevin cursed, squinting to get a better focus. Alastair clucked, shaking his head. “Three, two—”

Kevin lowered the gun. “What are you doing?” Castiel shouted. “Shoot him!”

“I’m not getting you killed.” Carefully, not taking his eyes off Alastair, Kevin placed the gun on the floor. “Okay. You’ve got us. Good job.”

“Mm, somehow I doubt it’s just you two. I’d imagine the cavalry’s on its way, isn’t it?” Alastair shrugged. “No matter. I’ll take care of them. You two are going to take a little trip with me to the cellar.”

“You’ve got Dean in there, don’t you?” Castiel growled, balking as Alastair jammed the revolver against his back.

“What a smart little boy you are.” Alastair chuckled. “Come on, now, don’t be shy! I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.”

Rigidly, Castiel walked, all too aware of the gun pressed to his back. Sam was still coming. He’d realize they weren’t inside, and he’d call the police. It was what would happen in the meantime that frightened him.

Alastair opened the cellar doors and gestured to the stairs with a sweeping arm. “In you go. The first one to try and run gets a bullet in his back.”

Castiel caught a glimpse of Kevin’s face, set and resolute. He steeled himself, nodding at Kevin. The other man moved towards the stairs, and Castiel whirled around, bringing his knee into Alastair’s gut.

“Kevin, call the police!” he shouted as Alastair swore, doubling over. It seemed the man had been unprepared for Castiel to fight back. The gun went off as Castiel grabbed for Alastair’s wrists, the bullet shattering against wooden cellar doors. Alastair roared in fury, and Castiel threw himself on the man, pinning him to the ground as he tried to wrestle the gun from his grasp.

The revolver fired again, the shot whizzing past Castiel’s ear. He yelled at the deafening noise, pain ratcheting through his head. Furiously, Castiel dug his knee into Alastair’s sternum, pressing down hard. Alastair choked, his hands going slack, and Castiel seized the gun. He scrambled back, staggering to his feet, his hands shaking as they held the unfamiliar weapon.

Castiel took a second to relish the look of shock on Alastair’s face before squeezing the trigger. Unprepared for the kick-back, he stumbled backwards; Alastair screamed as the bullet lodged in his shoulder. “Bastard,” Castiel hissed, crouching down and clocking the man in the temple, his hand weighted with the gun. Alastair’s head dropped as he fell back, unconscious.

Alastair might be down, but that didn’t mean Dean was safe. The revolver clutched in his hand, Castiel made his way into the cellar, forcing himself to keep from sprinting down the stairs.

The first thing that caught his eye was the blood, blood that seemed to be pooling everywhere. Dean groaned, half-conscious and chained to a bed, covered in a sticky white-and-red mixture. “Dean!” Castiel shouted, dropping the gun and running to his mate, knocking Kevin out of the way. “Oh god, oh god, no. Dean!”

“Cas, no,” Dean groaned, shaking his head. “You can’t be here. You’ve gotta run, Cas.”

“Like hell,” Cas snapped. “Where are the keys?”

“He’s got ‘em.” Dean forced his eyes open, red and watery with pain. “You’ve gotta go. Hurry, ‘fore he gets back.”

“Kevin, go get the keys.” The sound of footsteps told Castiel that Kevin had obeyed; he knelt, running a hand through Dean’s hair. “We’ve got you, Dean. He’s not going to come near you again.”

Dean snorted weakly. “Even ‘f he goes back to prison, he’ll be back for me,” he muttered. “Gotta kill him, Cas. ‘S the only way.”

“Fine by me.” Castiel’s eyes lit on Dean’s clothes, crumpled in a heap on the floor. “Kevin will be back with the keys soon. I’m going to get you dressed, okay?”

Castiel eased Dean’s boxers and jeans over his legs, forcing himself to keep from screaming as he caught sight of the source of the blood. Dean’s hole was ripped and bloody, so torn that Castiel wondered how he could ever possibly heal. With shaking hands, he slid the waistband over his lover’s hips, flinching as Dean groaned. “It’s okay. You can’t go out there naked, Dean. You’ll freeze.”

Kevin trotted down the steps, keys in hand. “I swear, even unconscious that guy’s freaking disgusting,” he commented, passing the keys to Castiel. Cas turned and unlocked the cuffs from Dean’s wrists, running a finger over the raw patch of skin where his mate had fought the metal bindings.

Dean sat up, biting his lip as his face went grey with pain. “I’m okay,” he gasped, waving Castiel off with a limp hand. “Gimmee my shirt.”

“If you say you’re okay again—” Castiel took a shuddering breath and passed Dean his T-shirt. Slowly, a groan slipping from his lips as he stretched, Dean eased the shirt over his head. Castiel swallowed hard, handing Dean his jacket and picking up his boots, pulling them over his bare feet and lacing them quickly. He pocketed the discarded socks. He did not want Dean in this cellar any longer than he had to be.

Dean stood, his legs trembling violently from the strain. Pain twisted his face as he limped over to the gun, bending over stiffly and lifting it off the ground, examining it closely. “Yeah, this will work,” he muttered.

“Dean, what—” Kevin began. Dean cut him off with a glare.

“I’m gonna get out of this damn place, and I’m gonna shoot that bastard in the head,” he snapped, leaning heavily against the wall. “You can take any whining about it and shove it up your ass.”

Kevin held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll look the other way,” he said quietly.

Castiel slipped an arm around Dean’s waist and helped him up the stairs, half-carrying his partner when his legs nearly gave out. Snow crunched underfoot in sporadic patches, half-melted into the spongey ground. Carefully, he drew back his arm and stepped back, leaving Dean to stand on his own.

Dean stared at Alastair’s prone form, hate and anger shining through the pain and exhaustion in his eyes. “Here’s to you, you colossal dick,” he muttered, spitting directly on the man’s face. “I only wish I could draw this out a little longer, get some real payback.”

A car door slammed, and Castiel looked up. “Dean!” Sam sprinted across the lawn, relief and grief and concern flickering across his face. He stopped dead, staring from Alastair to the gun in his brother’s hand. “Dean, you can’t shoot him. It won’t count as self-defense. The cops are on their way; let them sort this out.”

Dean glanced up, his face haunted with emotions that Castiel couldn’t even begin to qualify. His hand twitched, and for a moment Castiel thought he was going to lower the gun; then his expression hardened, dark and unreadable, a dangerous face that he had never seen on his lover. “So lawyer me out of it, Sammy,” he rumbled, only the barest edges of pain creeping into his low voice.

Carefully, Dean brought the gun down a fraction of an inch, aimed, and pulled the trigger. 


	24. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastair is dead, and Dean is taken to the hospital. Castiel arrives to visit him; as they talk, Castiel realizes that only one person could have pointed Alastair in Dean's direction. Armed with this knowledge, he goes to confront Crowley for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after this, I think there will be one more chapter (fluff and smut, because I owe it to you all) and an epilogue. Wow. I can't believe how close this story is to its end. To all my readers, old and new--you guys are fantastic, and I love you all. Thank you for inspiring me to write and helping me make Biological Imperative into the story it is today!
> 
> Now, a question of interest. This verse is much larger in my head than it is in the story, simply because when I was planning it, I didn't know what I would have room to include, so I planned for everything. I've got bunches and bunches of little stories and ficlets off of these characters and situations that I have been scribbling down, because I just don't want to let them sit and fester in my mind. Would you guys be interested in reading them? If there's enough interest, I might well post them in a master fic of Biological Imperative shorts. Let me know! (None of them will have any effect on the events in the fic, so if enough people are interested, there's no real pressure to read them.)

An ambulance took Dean away even as police swarmed over the crime scene, taking statements and leaning over Alastair’s body, splattered with blood and brain tissue. Castiel cast a longing look at Dean as paramedics covered him with a blanket—for shock, they said—and eased him onto a stretcher, but he knew that he would not be permitted to ride in the back with his mate. Perhaps Sam would be allowed, due to their family status, but Sam was caught up talking to the lead detective, giving statements and engaging in heated conversation with the lead detective.

Finally, Sam broke free of the detective and returned to the car, shaking his head. He leaned against the door and turned to face Castiel and Kevin. “Well, they’re not happy that we contrived a plan to come in on our own, but we didn’t technically break any laws, so they can’t arrest us for trespassing.”

“And Dean?” Castiel asked, concerned.

Sam shrugged. “They’re chalking him shooting Alastair up to trauma and perceived self-defense. It might go to court, but the odds are slim.” He glanced at the body. “It’s not like the guy had friends or family who’d be willing to make a fuss. The detectives are going to take into account Dean’s past history with the guy and his fear that Alastair would keep coming for him. As long as Dean answers their questions, they’ll probably let him off the hook.”

“It’s a public service, as far as I’m concerned.” One of the officers wandered over, his lips twisting in a grimace. “The guy was a menace. Your friend will probably get a prison sentence reduced probation for voluntary manslaughter, assuming it goes to court at all. Personally, I tip my hat to him.”

Castiel gave the officer a tiny smile. “That’s good.” He glanced around the scene; gloved police medics slid Alastair’s corpse into a body bag, while several officers were setting up stakes and crime scene tape. “When will we be permitted to leave the scene?”

The officer shrugged. “You can go as soon as I take down your contact information. I don’t want to keep you from the hospital any longer than necessary.”

Castiel nodded, giving the officer his address and the home phone number. Sam and Kevin gave their contact information as Castiel slipped into the backseat of Sam’s car. Sam climbed into the driver’s seat as Kevin settled into the passenger’s seat, and they were off, Sam keeping carefully to the speed limit until they were well out of sight of the cops.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Sam said abruptly, breaking the silence. “Dean shouldn’t have shot him, but still. The world’s a safer place.”

Maybe in the eyes of the law Dean should have let Alastair live, but as far as Castiel was concerned, justice had been served. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, thinking hard. If it came down to court, he’d ask Gabriel for help finding a sympathetic judge again. Somewhere, there was surely a judge who would look at Dean, look at Alastair’s record, and determine that his mate had acted in everyone’s best interests—his own especially.

0o0o0o0o0

“I don’t want to be kept overnight,” Dean griped, glaring at the doctor who brought him the news. “You can’t keep me here. I want the release paperwork now.”

“Mr. Winchester.” Large and no-nonsense, Doctor Mosley propped her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow a him, effectively cutting off Dean’s protests before he could open his mouth. “The hospital needs to keep you overnight for observation. I’m going to give you the rundown of the trauma your body has undergone, and I’m going to warn you now, it’s not pretty. We’re willing to make some concessions and allow you any visitors you’re willing to receive, but you need to stay in bed and let us do our jobs, okay?”

“I know what I went through,” Dean snapped, his insides coiling with embarrassment. “I’ve lived it before, okay? I know how this works, and I just want to go home and forget it happened.”

The doctor sighed, fixing him with a sympathetic eye. “Mr. Winchester,” she began, softening her voice. “I’ve seen your file, and I know this isn’t the first time you’ve undergone this sort of trauma. There are certain differences this time that require a longer stay in the hospital.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “Longer—you mean longer than last time?” he demanded. “I was in the hospital for a week last time, and that’s after I—he had me for months before. It was only two days this time!”

“I know.” The doctor sat in the chair beside him, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Dean pulled his arm back and tried to glare, but the sympathetic look in her eyes stopped him.

“What?” he croaked nervously. “What makes this time so different?”

“The damage you sustained is of a different nature,” Doctor Mosley replied calmly, sympathetically. “We’re running standard tests for sexually transmitted infections, of course, but that wouldn’t be enough to keep you here. Right now, what we’re worried about is the damage your reproductive system has sustained.”

Dean shuddered. Hazy memories of Alastair ripping from his body rose, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. “That happened last time, too. I miscarried,” he muttered, glancing down at his hands.

“I know. I read your file.” The doctor smiled at him, an expression designed to comfort rather than reassure. Dean swallowed uneasily. “The x-rays show that internally, you sustained no damage to your reproductive organs. Externally is a different factor. You’ve sustained enough trauma that sexual contact of any sort will be inadvisable for the next several months, at least. That’s not our primary concern.” Dean glanced up at the doctor, who regarded him with sympathy. “You sustained enough external damage that it’s quite likely that if you ever decide to have children, the process of childbirth could severely harm you and your child in the process. We want to keep you in the hospital to maximize your chances of making a full recovery.”

It was strange. Being with Castiel, Dean knew that he would never carry biological children, but the idea of being _unable_ to do so chilled him. He stilled, shrinking back into the pillows. “How long will I have to be here until you’re sure?” he asked, his voice smaller than he had intended.

“At least a week. Possibly more.” Doctor Mosley rose, her sympathetic demeanor morphing briskly back to her formerly no-nonsense attitude. “Now, I believe you have visitors in the waiting room. Are you ready to receive them?”

Dean nodded, staring blankly at his hands. The doctor left the room, returning with Sam, Kevin, and Castiel in her wake.

Cas pushed past the doctor and rushed to the edge of the bed, wringing his hands, distressed. “Dean.” He closed his mouth, staring helplessly down at his partner.

Now this was something that Dean could fix. “Hey, Cas.” He propped himself up on an elbow, wincing as his numb body protested in spite of the anesthesia. “Nice detective work, finding me and all.”

Cas responded with a tiny smile. “I’m just glad we did.”

Dean nodded. “Where are Samandriel and Ben? And Amelia and Ruby, for that matter?” he asked, glancing at Sam.

“Mom and Dad came over to watch them,” Sam replied quietly. “I promised I’d call them if—when—we found you. I guess I should do that soon.”

Dean nodded, his cheeks burning. “Don’t tell them what happened,” he ordered, searching his brother’s face. “Just tell them I’m all right. I don’t want them knowing I was… I was stupid enough to get jumped again.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, and Dean cut him off. “Don’t try and tell me it wasn’t my fault. I know that. I still should have grabbed his gun instead of freezing up.”

“Dean.” His eyes flickered to Cas. Wide and worried, Castiel’s gaze held him as the man reached for his hand. “He would have been expecting you to fight back. The odds of you getting the gun from him without being shot in the process are minimal.”

Dean grimaced. He knew that, but it did little for his pride. If he’d just had the guts to go for the gun from the beginning… “Yeah, well, if he’d shot me the neighbors would have called the cops. He’d have gone down that much faster.”

Castiel ran his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand. “And then you might have died. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“God, if I had died—” Damnit, he was getting emotional. Dean swallowed hard. “He threatened to come after you and Samandriel if I fought, Cas. He knew about you guys. He’d been watching me.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, his face furious. “How did he even know where you were?” he asked, his voice crackling with rage.

“Said someone told him. He knew we were together. Knew he could use you to hurt me.”

“How did—” Castiel cut off, his eyes darkening. “Crowley,” he hissed, clenching his free hand.

“Crowley?” Kevin asked, frowning. “Your ex?”

“He’s the only person who knows Dean and I are together who would do such a thing. Though I would have never expected him to go this far,” Castiel spat murderously. “I will kill him.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Do you really think he’d do that?” he asked. “Guy seemed like a scuzzball, but how did he even know about Alastair in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel responded grimly, lightly squeezing Dean’s hand, “but I intend to find out.”

0o0o0o0o0

Hatred. It was the only emotion Castiel could bring himself to feel as he stood outside Crowley’s house, his finger raised above the doorbell. So many memories of this place, and none of them were pleasant. Nearly every day for eight years he had knelt on the floor directly behind the door, scrubbing hardwood until his hands cracked and dried from the chemical cleaners. If he glanced up, he would see the window of the bedroom where he had submitted several times a week to what he now understood constituted marital rape. The entire place stank of fear and oppression in his mind, and he was about to willingly set foot inside.

He rang the doorbell.

A trim, elegant Omega woman answered, frowning slightly as her eyes roved over Castiel. “Can I help you?” she asked, tapping a slender finger idly against the doorknob.

“I need to speak with Crowley,” Cas responded curtly, jamming his hands in his pockets. A glance at the interior of the hall showed scuff marks on the floor and dust on the picture frames.  It seemed Crowley had not learned to clean the way he expected his spouse to—he was probably relying on housekeepers. Hollow pleasure settled in Castiel’s chest, meaningless and heavy.

“Castiel.” Trim as always in a neatly pressed suit, Crowley came up behind the Omega woman, resting a firm, possessive hand on her shoulder. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

Castiel smiled tightly. “I’ll gladly talk now, but I get the feeling you might prefer to have this conversation in private.”

“Of course.” Crowley turned to the woman, smiling brightly, falsely. “Rachel, be a dear and wait in the sitting room, won’t you?”

“All right.” With a curious look at Castiel, the woman backed away and turned, making her way towards the plush, spacious den.

Crowley waved Castiel inside, closing the door behind him. Without bothering to remove his shoes, Castiel followed Crowley to his study, his back rigid and set. This was it. The trial had been a starting point, but he was finally set to confront his former husband once and for all.

Crowley poured himself a glass of scotch from the small wooden bar directly inside the small room. He did not offer one to Castiel. “So, what brings my dear old ex to my home without even a warning call?” he asked, sinking down into his desk chair. Cold eyes surveyed Castiel’s face from over the glass as the man took a sip.

“You ask as though you don’t know.” Castiel glared at his former husband, forcing himself to speak calmly despite the rage that simmered in his chest. “You sent Alastair after Dean, didn’t you?”

“Alastair? Alastair. Hm. The name does ring a bell,” Crowley mused, setting down his glass. “Ah, of course. That lovely chap I had a friendly conversation with not a few weeks back. You think I sent him after your slut?”

Castiel growled low in his throat. “So you did send him.”

“Really, Castiel, what do you think of me? I have no interest in your Omega whore.” Crowley smiled, all smug satisfaction, a cat who killed the bird to get to the cream. “No, I simply asked a favor of the poor man. He was in prison, you know, for a crime so petty it hardly seems worth the court costs.”

“Petty?” Castiel snapped. “He kidnapped Dean. He raped him and tortured him for months, and you, you handed Dean right back over to him.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows coolly. “Of course, that’s how it went down in court. Because any Omega can regret sex and cry rape these days. Such a dreadful way our system handles things.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Why did you give him Dean’s address?” he demanded angrily.

“I suppose your whore does live there as well. I assure you, that was not my intent.” Calmly, Crowley reached for his glass and took a sip of scotch. “It might have escaped your notice, Castiel, but I am a very busy man. While you’re off prancing about at a no-class bar and having filthy sex with your roommate, I’m working long hours and running a company. I won’t always have time to drop everything when I need to retrieve my sons for their monthly stay. Here, I simply wished to offer an opportunity to do good to a man so demonized and spat upon by modern society. I made him an offer. If he would be willing to pick up my children and bring them to me should I ever be too busy, then I would owe him my thanks.”

Castiel stared at the man, disbelieving. “You would send a _sex offender_ to pick up your children.” He knew Crowley was lying. Oh, that may be his excuse, but surely even Crowley would not entrust his kids to the care of a rapist. “No. Even you’re not that much of an idiot.”

“I assure you, Castiel, that was hardly my thought process. For one, I highly doubt that Mr. Mortris is a sex offender so much as a man who got screwed in the bleeding-heart court system of the modern world. Really, he and I can take solidarity in this.” Crowley tapped his foot impatiently. “Still, I can tell that you’re dreadfully concerned with labels, so I will acquiesce. I will find someone else to retrieve my children, should it be necessary.”

“You’d have to, since Alastair’s dead, but somehow I don’t think you’ll have any reason to do such a thing.” Castiel glared at the man, holding back the desire to bury his fist in that smug face. “I’m taking you back to court, before the statute of limitations is up. Every time you hit me? Every time you held me down and forced me to have sex? That’s spousal abuse, Crowley. Domestic violence. I think I’ll have little trouble securing a restraining order, and getting full custody of Ben and Samandriel to boot.”

Crowley straightened, his smug mask cracking for the first time. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said slowly, searching Castiel’s face. “You’ve got no proof. You’d be laughed out of court before you could even make the case!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Castiel took a step forward, shaking with anger. “No proof? How many times did Samandriel see you hit me? When I showed up at Dean’s, I was covered with bruises that you put on me, and Dean’s far from the only person who saw them. I’d say there are enough witnesses to give me a fighting chance.”

“Circumstantial evidence, and the unreliable witness of a young child warped by your hatred of me!” Crowley snapped, rising from his chair. “You’ve got no proof, so you’ve got no case.”

“Do you want to take that chance?” Inches separated Castiel from the Alpha; he glared down at his former mate, realizing for possibly the first time how much taller he was than the other man. “I’m going to make this simple, Crowley. Sign over full custody to me—no strings attached, and agree to a legal order ensuring you will never come near me or my family again. Otherwise, I will take you to court, and even if I don’t win, that stain will forever be on your record. Dean might have some charges he wants to press as well—you did endanger his life by giving his address out to a felon you knew held a grudge against him.”

Crowley shook, his smarmy, elegant face marred with dark anger. “Get out of my house,” he spat, clenching his fists. “Get out! Don’t you ever come back here, or I’ll have you hauled away for trespassing!”

“Gladly.” Castiel stepped back, glaring hard at the man. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

He stopped by the living room on his way out of the house. The Omega woman looked up, staring at Cas with curious regard. “You’re romantically involved with Crowley?” Castiel asked abruptly. The woman nodded, tilting her head. “I’d recommend that you get out and run as fast as possible,” Castiel said quietly, meeting her eyes. “He’ll chew you up and keep chewing until you don’t recognize yourself.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, his truck waiting, parked by the curb outside the house. Without looking back, Castiel slipped into the driver’s seat and turned on the car, more than ready to leave the past behind and return home.


	25. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns home from the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's excited for the Season 9 premiere?! I'm about to start hyperventilating with happiness. So, so excited. And scared. But mostly excited.
> 
> This is the last "official" chapter of the story. There will be an epilogue, and by popular demand I am uploading the various shorts I've written/am working on for this verse. They're all going to be compiled into one story, with each chapter containing a ficlet. Some will be brief, others will be more along the lines of full-chapter length. I hope you enjoy them, if you are so inclined to check them out!
> 
> Fluff and smut. All is right and good in the world. I will try to finish and put up the epilogue shortly!

The sight of his house, the Impala parked in the driveway and the front door familiar and welcoming, was enough to bring up a lump in Dean’s throat. With Castiel’s help, he hobbled out of the car, moving awkwardly with a hospital issued cane—he had declined the use of a wheelchair, however temporary—and set off towards the front porch, the barest traces of a limp hindering his movements.

Mary opened the door before Dean could fumble his keys from his pocket, smiling down at her son through unshed tears. “It’s good to have you home, Dean,” she said, stooping down to embrace her oldest son.

“Hi, Mom,” Dean said awkwardly, flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t know how much Sam had told his parents, but he hoped it wasn’t too much.

“Daddy!” Samandriel came sprinting down the hall, barreling past Mary to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean staggered back at the weight. “You’re back! I knew Papa meant it when he said you didn’t leave us.”

“Hey there, squirt.” Dean wriggled out of his mother’s hold so he could bend down to hug his mate’s child. “How’ve you been holding up?”

“Good,” Samandriel replied solemnly. “Papa says you killed a very bad man, and I don’t have to see Father again. Did you really kill someone?”

Dean sighed. He was going to have to have a talk with Cas about how much he told the kids. “Yes, I did,” he replied finally. From his mother’s gasp, Sam hadn’t told her that much. “But he was a very evil person, so I don’t feel bad about it. He makes Joker look like a good guy.”

“Really?” Samandriel’s eyes widened. “Did he rob banks and stuff?”

“You know, it wouldn’t surprise me.” Dean smiled tightly and rose, wincing at his mother’s sharp look. “Come on. Let’s get inside, okay?”

Mary pulled Dean into the kitchen before he could even bend down to unlace his boots. “You killed someone?” she demanded, worried. John looked up sharply, setting his coffee mug down on the table.

Dean groaned. It was too early to have this talk with his parents. “Yep. I shot Alastair in the head. I’d do it over again in a heartbeat, too.”

John nodded, glancing at his wife. “Well, if you had to kill someone, that’s the way to go.” Mary swatted him, exasperated; Dean chuckled. He should have known his father would have that reaction. “The kids have been doing well,” John added, looking up at Dean. “Samandriel in particular seems very attached to you.”

Dean nodded. “Yep. He’s kind of adopted me as another father. Good thing I like the kid,” he joked, easing his way into a chair. “Who do I have to kill to get a cup of coffee around here?” Mary cast him a disapproving look, and he glanced down. Perhaps that joke wasn’t in the best of tastes, given the circumstances.

“That would be me.” Castiel walked into the kitchen, socked feet slapping lightly over the tile floor. “If you kill me, though, I won’t be able to bring you your coffee.”

Dean laughed, admiring the long, lean lines of his mate’s body as Castiel rose on tip-toe to pull down two coffee mugs. “Would you like some, Mrs. Winchester?” he offered politely, pouring drinks for himself and Dean.

“No, but thank you.” Mary rested her hip against the counter, her eyes barely flicking towards Castiel before coming back to rest on Dean. He shifted, wincing as his body protested the movement. “Dean, your father and I would like to know what happened.”

Dean grimaced. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom,” he replied, taking a mug from Castiel. Cas pulled out a chair and sat next to him, warm and soothing at his side. “It’s over, it’s done, it won’t happen again.” They could probably guess. He’d told them he killed Alastair, after all. Still, the idea of saying it, of putting his trauma into words for his _parents,_ of all people, was too much. He couldn’t stand the idea of revealing his shame to them.

“Dean—”

“Drop it, Mary,” John said curtly, his eyes fixed on the table. “He said he doesn’t want to tell us. Dean’s safe, that’s all that matters.”

Mary glared at her husband, but said nothing. Dean fidgeted, awkward in the silence. His mind was horrifyingly blank, and the uncomfortable quiet seemed to stretch on forever.

“Ben and Samandriel have been doing well,” Cas said finally, and were it not for his parents’ presence in the room, Dean could have kissed his mate in thanks. “Samandriel missed you. I think Ben did too, though it’s hard to tell at his age.”

Dean smiled. “I guess it is.” The coffee burned, bitter and hot and perfect as he took a long swig of the drink. “Didn’t give you guys any trouble?” he asked, glancing at his parents.

John shook his head, and Mary smiled, though the worry lines did not smooth from her brow. “They’re both easy children. Much easier than you were at their age,” she answered, folding her hands in her lap. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you for two minutes without something breaking.”

“Mom!” Dean protested. Beside him, Castiel laughed softly.

“What? It’s true. I think you’d wracked up three broken bones and cost us at least five lamps by the time you were seven.”

“Childhood stories. That’s always entertaining,” Castiel said wickedly, leaning forward. “Got any interesting ones?”

“Cas!” Dean glared at his mate. “Don’t get her started!”

“Well, there was the time when Dean was eight and thought he was all set and ready to drive the Impala…” Dean groaned, covering his face.

John and Mary stayed for several hours, watching the kids and talking with Cas while Dean settled back in, navigating the house awkwardly with his cane. The damn thing seemed determined to catch on every rug and lump in the floor; Dean couldn’t wait to be rid of the thing. As soon as his legs stopped shaking from stress, he was going to stuff it in the garage where it would never see the light of day, doctor’s orders be damned.

By the time dinner rolled around, Dean, Cas, and the children had the house to themselves. They ate simple meal courtesy of Castiel’s cooking and spent the evening on the couch, introducing Castiel and Samandriel to Star Trek. The original series had been a staple of Dean’s childhood, and Next Generation of his teenage years. “If Samandriel starts imitating Data, we're never having sex again,” Castiel murmured in Dean’s ear. Dean laughed and swatted at his mate, grinning innocently as Samandriel turned to look at them.

“Papa, what did you tell Daddy?” the seven year old demanded curiously.

“Nothing, Samandriel,” Castiel replied, stifling giggles. “Watch the show.

They put the kids to bed, and Dean took his prescription painkillers before joining Castiel in their room. “Don’t hog the covers,” he ordered, removing his pants and wriggling between the sheets.

Castiel snorted. “You’re mixing me up with you again,” he replied tartly, leaning over and placing a gentle peck to Dean’s lips.

It was all he could have hoped for and more. Dean sighed, throwing an arm over his mate and pulling him close, spooning him and burying his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. Everything he would have never dared to dream of, and it was all his.

0o0o0o0o0

Castiel hesitated before removing his shirt, glancing across the room at Dean, sitting naked on their bed. “You’re sure you’re ready?” he asked softly, his hand twitching nervously on the hem of his shirt.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s been almost a month, Cas. I’m not a delicate little flower,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. I want you naked in my bed ten minutes ago. Get a move on!”

Castiel smiled and stripped himself of his clothing, making his way gracefully to the bed. Dean had yet to be cleared for sexual activity by the doctors, but that only applied to bottoming, or so Dean insisted. It had been weeks since they had been intimate, and Castiel would not deny that his desire for his mate was almost overwhelming at points, but he had held off out of respect for his lover. They had both skipped the pills at the end of their birth control packs this month, staving off their heats for the time being, but it was not a sustainable solution. Better to ease back into sex now, while neither of them was driven by needs and hormones.

Not that Castiel would complain about that.

He settled down on the bed, lying back and arranging his limbs so that he was sprawled out, his legs opened lazily and his arms resting above his head. Dean smiled nervously, and Castiel frowned. “We don’t have to do this,” he reminded Dean gently, cocking his head at the man.

“You’re right, we don’t. But I want to, if you do,” Dean replied, straddling Cas’s waist and leaning over to kiss him. Castiel’s lips slipped open, and Dean’s slid his tongue into his mouth, kissing him sweetly, all gentle, tender passion. Castiel reached for Dean, running a hand down his lover’s smooth, muscled back. Dean shivered, his hand finding Castiel’s shoulder and squeezing.

They kissed lazily, tongues intertwining as Castiel drank in the scent and taste that was so uniquely Dean, sweetness and sugar underneath faint traces of sweat and motor oil. He smiled as his mate drew back, meeting his eyes. There was still nervousness in his mate’s face, but some of his jitters had been pushed out, replaced by dilated pupils and loving desire.

Castiel shifted, spreading his legs further. He held back the urge to reach up and grip his mate, determined to cede all control to his lover. “How would you like me?” he asked, grinding lightly against his mate, a small allowance to his arousal.

Dean moaned as their erections rubbed together, precome dribbling out of both of their slits. “This is good,” he murmured, pressing down against his lover, the increase in pressure sending sparks of pleasure through Castiel’s body. He gasped, throwing his head back as Dean slid a hand over his chest, circling his nipple with a gentle fingertip.  Slick oozed from his hole, his body shivering with anticipation.

Dean trailed kisses down Castiel’s stomach, stopping briefly to mouth his cockhead before continuing lower. “Dean,” Castiel gasped as Dean ducked his head, licking tentatively at Castiel’s rim. A dribble of slick slid directly into the man’s mouth; he groaned, resting his hands on Castiel’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart and nuzzling his hole. “Dean, you—oh!” he moaned as Dean’s tongue pressed on, squirming its way into Castiel. Unintelligible words streamed from Castiel’s mouth as Dean worked his way inside, licking the slick from Castiel’s passage, holding his lower body firmly in place. Castiel bucked, his hips shifting of their own accord as Dean curled the thick, wet muscle and drew back, only to slide forward and set a steady, languid pace, fucking Castiel with his tongue. “Dean,” Castiel gasped, tensing as waves of pleasure shot through him, heat coiling in his belly. “I can’t… I can’t…” He groaned, fisting his hands in the sheets as a premature orgasm threatened to rip through his body. He did not want to come yet. Not before Dean.

His lover drew back, a wicked grin plastered over his face. Slick dribbled down his chin, dripping onto the sheets. Sinful and debauched, that was the only way Castiel could describe Dean, and had he any less self-control he was sure that the sight alone would be enough to tip him over the edge.

“Like that, do you?” Dean whispered huskily, trailing his finger down Castiel’s thigh. “Think you could come just from that?”

“Maybe another time,” Castiel panted, kneading the sheets between his fingers. “Not this time. I want you inside me this time.”

Dean smiled, placing a gentle kiss to Cas’s inner thigh. “Okay,” he murmured, pushing himself to his knees and reaching behind his back with one hand. “I can do that. But I seem to have eaten out most of your slick.” Dean swiped a finger over his ass, shuddering with the motion. His hand came away wet, dripping with his own lubrication. “Luckily, we can fix that.”

Dean slid a finger into Castiel’s entrance, patiently working him open with tender, nimble touches. Castiel moaned, reveling in the stretch of his mate’s hands, the unbelievably erotic sensation of his lover’s slick inside him. Dean added a second finger, then a third, twisting and curling until Castiel thought he would explode from the sensation. “Now, Dean,” he growled, sure that if his mate drew the foreplay out any longer he would be unable to stave off his orgasm.

Dean withdrew his fingers, wet and sticky from their mingled fluids, and gripped Castiel’s thighs firmly. “Lift up a bit,” he murmured, easing Castiel’s lower body off the bed. Castiel wriggled so that he was propped up on his elbows and hooked his knees over Dean’s shoulders, bracing himself against the pillows.

Dean pushed in, slow and sweet, the hot flesh of his erection easing open Castiel’s passage. Castiel moaned, driving his hips forward until his lover was fully sheathed inside him, stretching and filling him, a perfect fit of two puzzle pieces. Dean pulled out a fraction of an inch and pressed back in, his hips rocking steadily. “More,” Castiel gasped, thrusting back against his mate.

“God, Cas,” Dean moaned brokenly, squeezing his mate’s thighs as he drew out further and thrust back in, jolting Castiel’s flesh and sending waves of arousal through him. “So good for me, so perfect for me, love you…” He released one of Castiel’s legs and wrapped his fist around the man’s erection, stroking him in time with his thrusts, steadily increasing in speed.

Castiel’s breath stuttered as his orgasm built in earnest, pressure growing in his lower body, all-consuming, searching for release. He came with a low cry, spilling over Dean’s hand; a few more thrusts and Dean stilled, his hands clenching hard enough to bruise against Castiel’s thighs as he came, moaning, warm come flooding through Cas’s body.

Dean held himself up just long enough to pull out before collapsing, his wet, still spurting cock spilling fluid onto their shared sheets. Castiel exhaled sharply at the weight, wrapping his arms lightly around his lover. “Good?” he asked breathlessly, pressing his hands against warm, smooth skin.

“Always,” Dean mumbled, his voice hazy and pleasure-drunk. “Always so good for me, Cas. Like being with an angel.”

Castiel laughed, amused. “I don’t know whether your pillow talk is silly or flattering,” he teased, nuzzling Dean’s shoulder.

“’S true, ‘s what it is,” Dean murmured, closing his eyes. “Let’s not change the sheets. I don’t want to get up.”

Castiel smiled. “We’re going to regret leaving them like this in the morning,” he said softly, relaxing back against the pillows.

“That’s then, this is now.”

It was such an entirely characteristic statement, Castiel could not help but chuckle. “Fine, but don’t whine to me about it,” he whispered, squeezing Dean lightly. “I love you, you giant lazy ass.”

“Damn straight you do.” Dean smiled, cracking his eyes open. “I love you too, though. Even when you’re a prissy bitch about the sheets.”

Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes drowsily. Dean was right. The morning would come later, and it was time to enjoy the now. The past was the past, the future was yet to come, but the present was good and wonderful, and he would not change it for anything.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Dean and Castiel's life, seven years down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy everything. This is it. The epilogue. The finale. Gah, I can't believe I finished this. Wow, I'm getting emotional.
> 
> I want to thank you for giving this story a chance. To all my readers, whether you've been here from the beginning, came in partway through, or are just now discovering this fic--all of you are amazing. Your comments, kudos, and reads in general have given me all sorts of encouragement that I cannot even begin to describe. I don't think I could have done this without you, and you have all of my gratitude. 
> 
> The epilogue is fairly short, designed as it is just to give the story closure. Now, as I've said before, I'm not done with this verse. The short stories compilation has been started, and while I don't know how often I'll post new ficlets, I'd imagine there will be a fairly steady stream. I don't have any plans for a sequel as of yet, but I'm open to the idea if inspiration strikes. No promises, so don't get too excited. For now, I'm pretty content with the way the story ends, and I hope you all are too! You rock!

_“…And this new law, legalizing double-Alpha and double-Omega adoptions, is downright shameful,”_ the man on the screen said calmly, offering a winning smile. _“Here at Roman Enterprises, we pledge our monetary support to all the politicians willing to fight for family, recognizing our biological imperative…”_

“Dad, can you turn that down?” Samandriel asked, glancing up from his algebra homework, spread out across the coffee table. “It’s depressing, and I’m trying to concentrate.”

Dean laughed, reaching out to ruffle his thirteen year old son’s hair. Samandriel groaned, batting Dean’s hand away. “I’m gloating,” Dean explained, grinning. “Let ‘em rage. It’s comedy gold.”

“No it’s not,” Samandriel grumbled, rolling his eyes. “It’s depressing,” he repeated.

Castiel poked his head into the room, his tie half-loosened, suit jacket hanging off one shoulder. “I agree with Samandriel. Change the channel before you boost that maniac’s ratings,” he ordered.

“Fine,” Dean complained, rolling his eyes as he reached for the remote. “Fascist.”

“I’m going to ban political TV if you don’t cut that sort of language out,” Castiel scolded, leaning down to kiss Dean. Beside them, Samandriel squealed in horrified protest, clamping a hand over his eyes.

“Cas, I’m only watching it because there’s nothing good on the comedy channels!” Dean protested.

Cas smirked, turning his head slightly so that his lips brushed Dean’s ear. “Read a book.”

“I read plenty,” Dean muttered, glaring good-naturedly at his mate.

“Dad,” Samandriel whined, glaring at the pair. “I’m trying to do my homework! I came out here because Ben was distracting me, and now you’re doing it!”

Castiel laughed. “Okay, okay. Kitchen?” he directed at Dean, tilting his head.

Dean followed his mate into the kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and tossing it to Castiel. He cracked open one of his own and leaned back against the counter, smiling fondly at the other man. “So, how was work?” he asked, his grin widening as Castiel groaned.

“I forgot to carry a number somewhere this month. I spent all day going through the books trying to find the mistake,” he groused, twisting off the bottle cap. “It was a nightmare. Please tell me you’ve still got tomorrow off?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dean replied happily. “Seven years. I still can’t believe it.”

Castiel graced him with a wide grin. “Neither can I,” he said softly. “Samandriel’s staying at a friend’s house and Gabriel and Kali agreed to watch Ben, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“Does that mean I can make you scream?” Dean asked wickedly. Castiel flushed, his eyes sparkling.

“Never say I don’t plan ahead.” He crossed the kitchen with three long strides and wrapped his arms around Dean’s chest. “And Gabriel called as I was leaving work, by the way. The paperwork’s gone through, and should be finalized by Monday.” He nuzzled Dean affectionately. “Your request to legally adopt Samandriel and Ben went through. You know what that means—I’m signing you up for the PTA next year.”

“Cas!” Dean complained, but he grinned in spite of himself. As soon as the bill to allow dual Alpha or Omega couples to list both partners as parents had gone through, he had applied to be legally listed as his children’s second parent. The kids considered him a father regardless, but just knowing that their family relationship would be recognized meant the world to him. “Fine, I’ll suck up the PTA. It’s worth it. But you, Cas, are going to have to keep me awake through the boring meetings.”

“I don’t know. If you fall asleep during the meetings, I might actually get a night of rest.” Castiel mouthed at Dean’s neck, squeezing him gently.

Dean laughed. “Like you’re complaining. What was it you said last night? ‘Hold me down and—’”

“Not while Samandriel’s in the living room!” Castiel whispered sharply, mortified.

“Fine. Killjoy.” Dean licked his lips and kissed his mate tenderly on the forehead. “But when he’s asleep tonight I’m going to make you repeat everything you said last night, and act it out too.”

“Pervert,” Castiel teased. “What if I don’t comply?”

Dean shuddered as Castiel looked into his eyes, his gaze locking with glimmering pools of blue, alight with anticipation. “Then I’ll cede to you this time, but don’t think you’re getting out of a repeat performance,” he whispered, holding his mate gently to his chest.

They had all the time in the world, after all.


End file.
